This morning was a good morning with 552 words. I LOVE what I wrote this morning and what it means to the story as a whole, how it moves the story along. Instead of posting just a word from the piece, today, I'm posting an excerpt that I feel is a sort of miniature turning point in the story:
When I reach the hospital, I pull into the parking lot of a neighboring party supply store. I get out of my car and I’m just starting to walk when a gust of wind rips a bouquet of green and orange balloons from the handle across the front door. Children scatter and jump, grasping for the dangling ribbons but only one small boy is successful. I watch him for a moment and imagine myself into his life, into the sort of innocent wonder and unadulterated abandon that compelled him to leap and reach for a drifting balloon in the first place. He doesn’t know it yet, I think and wish there was someone to tell it to, but he won’t always catch the balloon. Sometimes the strings just aren’t long enough.
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