Micah and Alex

Prompt: Pick a picture and craft a story around it.

A soft breeze tickled the grass as two children tumbled across it, shrieking with laughter. 

“Alex,” the taller of the two children called, flopping down on his stomach beneath the shade of an enormous oak tree. “Alex, look.” The young boy pointed out a crimson red ladybug, balancing on a single blade of grass as if it were an experienced gymnast. 

“Wow,” breathed the younger child. “It’s so pretty.” 

“That’s nothing, though.” The older boy remarked, turning over onto his back to stare up at the sky. “You should’ve seen the pictures of butterflies we saw in school yesterday.” 

“Hmph.” Alex muttered. “Micah, why can’t I go to school with you?” 

“You’re not old enough,” Micah said with an exasperated sigh. “But, you can go soon.” He plucked a strand of grass and analyzed it with a desperate intensity that no one alive had ever known. Micah was always a curious boy, that was for certain. 

The siblings sat in silence for a while, feeling the green blades between their fingers and the sun as it kissed their faces. After several eternal moments, it was Alex who finally broke the silence. 

“I wish you could come home with us, Micah.” 

Micah sighed and rolled onto his stomach once more, staring at his younger sibling with longing in his eyes. “So do I, Alex. So do I.” 

“Alex,” called a soothing female voice from somewhere nearby. “It’s time to go, sweetheart.” There was something raw and almost broken in this voice, but its underlying strength still rang out across the graveyard. 

“Bye bye Michah,” Alex whispered. 

Micah responded by sticking out his tongue, and crossing his eyes. Alex giggled and scrunched up their face, which made both children fall into a fit of laughter. 

“Alex, honey, I’m serious. Let’s go.” A woman with long blonde hair stood overhead, looking down at her laughing child. She felt a stabbing pain that had nothing to do with Alex’s melodious laugh. Moments later, Alex regained their composure, stood up, and took the woman’s hand. 

“See you next week,” Alex murmured. Then, the woman and child walked, hand and hand, out of the graveyard and back into reality. As they left the now-empty patch of grass, sunlight gleamed on one small but beautifully-carved headstone. 

Here lies Micah Thompson. 2002—2009. A beloved son, loving brother, and curious mind.