The not-so-red, slightly pink frock was hovering in the air and it appeared as if an invisible girl was clad in it, hung there by the side-railing.
“Momma, see that pretty frock,” the girl walking along her mother by the street, pointed towards this piece of cloth.
“It is pretty.”
“I want it,” her eyes glinted with hope.
“I’ll ask dada to get one for you.”
“But I want this one,” she tugged at her mother’s arm, restraining to move any further.
She was pulled up in the arms and taken away, her eyes adorned with tears.
This is written in consideration of the Friday Fictioneers writing prompt.