If – A Drabble

“Tree. Tree. My sacred shaman tree…” I muttered as I walked through the forest. “Where are you?”
None of the green giants stepped forward, waved their branches or whatever they did to bind themselves to a shaman. Instead, the rain kept hammering my defeat into my pores until I curled up under the low branches of a yew tree.
Then I felt it. Like a knock on the door of my soul, demanding that I opened.
Then they submerged me: the ties, dreams, limits and possibilities.
“The French call me ‘If’,” it chuckled in my brain.
Then I was reborn.

This story was written based on this prompt.

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About Aheïla

Somewhere in Quebec City, Aheïla works as a Game Design Director by day and writes by night. Known for her blue hair, unyielding dynamism and tasty cooking (quails, anyone?), she’s convinced “prose is the new crack”. She satisfies her addiction daily on The Writeaholic’s Blog and weekly on Games' Bustles View all posts by Aheïla

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