Source.

Slicking back the soaked bandana sliding down her forehead,  she shut the steel door with a bang.  Picking up a large steel rod, she plunged it into the white magna mixture, spinning it as fast as she could.

Jerking it out, her hands rolled and rolled, magenta and gold spinning out in liquid flames.  As her tired arms bobbed and weaved, the colors deepened and cooled, a fragile flower waiting to be plucked.

“Who is that for?”

She sucked in her breath, grabbing the flower with her gloves as it tumbled from her rod towards the concrete floor.  ”Don’t scare me like that!”

“Sorry.”  Her daughter crept around the side of her studio, her nightgown dragging over her mother’s toolbox.

“What are you doing up?”  Her mother pulled the furnace open, stabbing another glowing ball.

“I couldn’t sleep.”  Her daughter shrugged, watching as her mother coaxed the ball into a teardrop.  The muscles in her arm rippled with each turn, slicked with sweat.

“You shouldn’t have watched that movie.  I told you vampires would give you nightmares.”  The tear drop bloomed, rippling into waves of blue and white, like a dancer’s flamenco skirts swirling.  Glancing at her daughter,  her mother’s tense face softened.  ”Want to twirl the next one?”

Her daughter bobbed her head up and down, breaking into a grin.  After her mother carefully separated the piece and the rod to cool, she opened the furnace.

“That one.”  Her daughter pointed and her mother stabbed dutifully.  Her daughter scrambled under her arms, pulling on thick gloves. Placing her tiny hands next to her mom’s, she twirled the rod.

“Say when.”  A thick drop of sweat dripped down off her mother’s forehead onto her daughter’s scalp.

Her daughter watched as the glass bloomed and twirled.  ”Now.”

Pulling the rod from her daughter’s hand, her mother pulled off the new piece.  Wiping her forehead against her shoulder, she gave her daughter a tired grin.  ”What shall we name it?”

Her daughter thought for a moment. “Twirl.”

“Perfect.”  Kissing her daughter’s forehead, her mother slid the rod into a bucket.  ”Let’s get you back to bed.”

“I know what I’ll dream of tonight.”  Taking her mother’s callused hand, tiny feet trod across the slick cement floor.  Behind her, a garden of glass bloomed.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new week of whimsy coming up!

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