Writing Challenge:
The WritingOutcasts discord server

Prompt:

My Entry

Victor's mother calls after him, and he rolls his eyes. At eight years old, he would never understand the horror that bellies her tone. He just wanted to play. Why can't she just leave him alone?

"Sorry," he says, waving to Adeline. "Mother calls."

Adeline, with her little blue dress and long brown curls, smiles at him. She leans back on her swing. "You know, I think I might feel the wind today."

"You think so?" he asks. For as long as he had known her, that was Adeline's greatest frustration—that she could not feel the breeze upon her face, rustling her hair or brushing her skin. There was always an eerie calm in the air about her, as if the wind dared not to touch her.

Adeline nods, swinging her legs to thrust her swing higher into the air.

"Victor!" his mother shrieks once more. Her eyes are wet with tears that he cannot understand.

"Okay! I'm coming," he presses, but when he turns around to say goodbye, Adeline is already gone. The swing is empty. All that remains is her shadow, sitting atop the echo of her swing as it sways in the grass.

He smiles. Maybe she'll feel the wind today.