Lamb was out picking wildflowers when she found the bird lying on the ground. Burdocks clung in clusters to its wings. Its feathers were damp, likely from both the morning dew and exhaustion. She pushed a finger against the fragile chest and felt a faint heartbeat

Sitting cross-legged, Lamb lifted the little bird and set it down in the hammock of her dress. Gently, gingerly, she set to pulling the prickly heads from the feathers.

Her momma found her later that afternoon, kneeling by a small mound of dirt, wiping away tears with fingers covered in burs, feathers and blood.


Prompt courtesy of the Friday Fictioneers. Read more stories here.


17 thoughts on “Burdocks

  1. Touching little tale of what remarkable beings children can be – something we tend to forget.
    Nicely done.
    Also, I write too but I’m terrible at such short form and have trouble closing stories off so kudos for being able to do that! :)

    1. Thanks. You need to cut and cut and cut, to get down to the right words. The story was probably twice as long at first, with no ending. But you keep cutting, and working and it hopefully ends up with an ending.

  2. Wonderful moving flash. You illustrate Lamb’s gentleness, sweetness and innocence. How fitting is the name. The last sentence stings the more.

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