A lifetime spent on a quest they all said was vanity. Well, she’d shown them. She’d found it, and it was just as legend described: human-shaped, more dead than alive. Janneth was aged and weary, but she had only to touch this innocuous looking root, and she would be transformed.
She grasped it, and gasped. Heat pulsed through her limbs. She tried to cry out, but no sound came. Petrified, she felt herself drawn into a murky place – imprisoned, helpless.
Rigid, she watched, as another, youthful Janneth took shape – stretching slender limbs and laughing. Old Janneth’s long wait began.
This week’s intriguing photo prompt was chosen, as usual, by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, who undertakes the mammoth task of hosting Friday Fictioneers, a weekly collection of 100 word stories. You can find all the stories here.
If you’d like to see some great old photos of Bob Dylan while he sings the song whose title I’ve borrowed for my story, you might like this YouTube clip.
Or, if you’d prefer something perhaps a little more tuneful, this one’s nice.