The Girl With the Pom-Pom Stick

And in her hand…

A pom-pom stick.

The light it gave off shimmered blue and white against the darkness of the surrounding forest.

Then she smiled, and whispered, “Would you like to play with me?”

She came closer, closer, and closer still, hanging on to her blue-white pom-pom stick, lightly shaking it so that it gave off the slightest rustling sound.

He tried to back off, whimpering from fright. He moved on his hands, backwards, toward something, somewhere in the dark where he would be safe from the girl and her, her pom-pom stick.

Then, he felt his hand fall off into empty space. He tore his eyes off the girl for one second, and saw a cliff with no bottom.

No bottom except darkness.

The girl crept closer, closer, a sly smile on her faint lips.

The pom-pom stick rustled, weaved, seemed to have a life of its own. It reached for him, whispering his name, rustling, whispering…

He jumped.

And then he woke up, sweat beading above his now wide eyes.

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