Smallest of worlds

A Story by Karen Preston

An eleven year old girl savors a Sunday morning moment.

Her brown hair spread out on the floor in the warm ray of the sun. She saw the smallest of worlds. Specks of dust floated, just like the stars outside her window too late on a summer evening. Air currents pushed them outside of the light's reach and then push them back into it. Joni Mitchell slid off of the record player and drifted up the stairs from the living room. The girl closed her eyes, and the warm air made her perfect, even if it was for only a short while. She raised her arm, and the dust galaxy swirled around it, obeying her commands. Later she would feel the heavy hand of time pressing her into Monday. She would prepare for the silent battle of Weekday World. It always went the same way. It was always terrible and required so much courage and humiliation. For now though, she was eleven years old, and it was Sunday morning. She had all the time in the world.