Got a little inspiration from a friend’s post on Facebook today.
For a moment, Ethel continued knitting, her arthrytic hands manipulating the needles automatically. Then she stopped and the scrap of cloth containing the promise of a blanket fell to the ground.
Ethel adjusted her bifocals. This sure didn’t look like the nursing home. Gone were the rocking chairs and chess boards. Gone was good old Bob, the former ice cream man with his big laugh and big belly. Gone was Nuse Carol with her little cup of pills.
Instead, hills tumbled away at her feet. Forests sprang up like patches of a peach fuzz on a baby’s bald head. Distant mountains scratched a blue line into the horizon, their tops obscured with torn up clouds.
Ethel saw something circling the mountains. Something impossibly huge. Something with wings. Something spitting fire.
She looked down. A man no taller than a cat stood at her feet. Warts freckled his long crooked nose. He wore a pointy hat and curling shoes, like the garden gnome Ethel had had back in the 60s.
“Wh–wh–” she stuttered.
“Ethel,” the little man said, actually hopping up and down with excitement. “At last you’ve come to save us, Chosen One.”