PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
Newt shuffled along the dusty tabletop so Mama could perch next to her.
‘And what was this bit?’ Newt traced the lines on the picture with her finger, the crosscross patterns, the dark bobbles with their raised paint.
‘That was grass, the brown lines are paths. That blue was a lake, the blobs are trees.’ Mama coughed, the sound rattling like dried beans caught in her chest. ‘Let’s go. Dark’s coming.’
As they hurried back to the tunnel and the oildrum fire, Newt tried to imagine Lake, Trees, Grass …
Tried to imagine a world coloured blue and green.