The Mangoes Were Ripe

mango tree, tree house
(c) 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

She lived in a mango tree.

She’d been here for over a century. Sometimes she still missed her apple tree on the small island. Yet only when the tree blossomed and the buzzers’ inelegant wings annoyed her would she wish for her magic. Losing it had been the price for her escape; she hardly found herself summoning a spell that wouldn’t work these days.

When the Englishmen with whom she’d arrived left, she wondered if she ought to return, too. She’d left home for a reason. There was no guarantee she’d have her magic back. And the mangoes were ripe.

She still lives in the mango tree.


I’m feeling rather uninspired lately, so to kickstart ideas for today’s MFtS, I sort of used the Story A Day prompt, as well.