Harriet hated the desert. Unfortunately, it was the only place she’d ever been.
She longed for lushness, though all she’d known was drought. A dusty beige seeped in from all sides, blending her days until all Harriet’s memories were one long barren blur. The people of her small town had absorbed the landscape — all arid attitudes and barbs — such that she could scarcely distinguish a boulder from a neighbor in her mind.
Her mother insisted that there was beauty in the desolate land and its prickly people, but it wasn’t one Harriet appreciated. For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted to escape to greener pastures.
The day the balloon came might have felt like a dream had Harriet ever dreamed in vivid color. The lively stripes cut the sky in shades she couldn’t name. She stood with mouth agape watching its flight. When she realized the balloon was coming closer to the gritty soil of her home, she sprinted after the aircraft.
Harriet skidded into the whitewashed center of town just as the balloon’s basket touched down. A woman stood within, resplendent in a coat the color of hot coals and a black hat at tall as a train’s smokestack. She surveyed the gathering crowd with a wry smile, as if amused by their distrustful stares. When her eyes met Harriet’s, her lips spread wide across her teeth.
“You seem like just the sort of person I’m looking for,” she said. Harriet looked around to be sure the woman was speaking to her. Without realizing it, Harriet had broken through the haphazard ring of townspeople surrounding the balloon, the lone ambassador braving proximity to the unknown vessel.
“Oh?” Harriet said. “And what type of person is that?”
“A person ready for adventure,” the woman replied, then offered her hand in silent invitation.
Harriet clasped it, letting herself be pulled over the lip of the basket and into the balloon. The woman acknowledged their sudden alliance with a wink before turning up the flame fueling the balloon and taking Harriet away, never to see the loathsome desert again.
This story was written as part of a visual writing prompt project I started on Instagram. Each week I offer an image to spark stories and poetry. I make sure to always share a response of my own. They’re short; micro-fiction, really. Still, they’re stories I put energy into so I’m giving them a home here as part of a microfiction series. I hope you enjoy.
“coat the color of hot coals and a black hat at tall as a train’s smokestack” — such a striking visual!