Johnny raced to his mother, clutching her hand and dragging her to the riverbank,
“There mama”, he pointed at what appeared to the ordinary eyes as a slow-moving swamp river, with over grown bushes on the sides.
“Isn’t that the most beautiful river mama, like those of fairytales.”
“Oh Johnny,” his mum ruffles his hair, “there’s nothing remarkable about a muddy water.”
Johnny looked up at his mother in bewilderment. Why couldn’t she see what he was seeing.
“But ma,” he protested until she pried him off the site reluctantly, telling him not to let his imaginations get the best of him.
That night, under starless skies with a solitary half-moon shining, Johnny’s mother made her way to the river bank, the same one Johnny had seen.
“I know what you are trying to do”, she spoke into the flowing river, her face as fierce as an angry gypsy,
“So let me make something clear, my kid is off limit. And I’m sure neither one of us wants me to come back here again, because that won’t be pleasant.”
With that, Johnny’s mother made her way back to the camp knowing the intended recipient had got the message.
word count: 198. This Flash Fiction is in response to a photo prompt hosted by the social underground.