Flash Fiction: Calling the Rain

Inspired by a writing group prompt. 

Calling the Rain 

She worked at a desk in the corner of her upstairs room. Cogs and thin pieces of copper wire littered the wooden surface, the tiny tools she used taken from her clock workshop below. Tightening the last screw, she sat back and gazed at her creation. Nothing like the blundering robot which now stood in a corner with his back to her, this was a piece of nature perfectly reproduced. It should work, shouldn’t it? She prayed before pushing the tiny lever that sent the butterfly’s wings into motion. After a few minutes she went to stand by the window and wondered how long butterflies truly took to change the weather.

pexels-photo-459451

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