A Humble Plea

Lillypad’s heart thumped a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a tiny drumbeat echoing the nervous excitement that buzzed through her. The cool, damp paper lay on the table, a testament to the strange ritual she had just performed. The ink of her carefully drawn ‘x’ and ‘o’ felt almost alive beneath her fingertips, a promise of something extraordinary. She’d followed the news reporters' instructions to the letter, her drawing precise, her whispered incantation a hopeful plea. Now, the moment of truth had arrived, or at least, the moment of anticipation.

She lowered herself to her knees, the wooden floor cool against her bare legs. The scent of her mother’s lemon polish mingled with the faint, metallic tang of the water she’d poured. It was a peculiar combination, but then, the whole game was peculiar. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Lillypad closed her eyes, picturing the colorful, unseen entities the reporters called ‘Rainbow Friends.’ She imagined them, vibrant and playful, drawn to the offering she had made.

“Oh rainbow friends,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet carrying the weight of her entire ten-year-old world. Her throat felt tight, and she swallowed, willing the words to be clear and strong. “Are you going to send your grant?”