The Knitter and The Mashed Potatoes

A short story from a child’s imagination

Another off-white, brown-speckled clump fell beside Emily. She had been dozing. Well, really she had been sleeping. Sleeping for six days as she did every week. The soft thud of the odd clump was enough to rouse her, and she stirred in her rocking chair, her hands folded in her lap. She stretched, raising her arms straight up and then…