The koi swam, casting concentric-ringed ripples against the pond’s otherwise tranquil surface. Diamond-sharp points of light reflected from the peaks of those miniature waves. She had a job to do here.
The waves were dazzling, blinding. Brilliant.
The grumble of the city died, curdled, before crossing the stone walls that bound this artificial tranquility.
She remembered the outside, and the water trembled, the koi were agitated, swimming disruptive circles above the stones.
Again she focused on the waves, and on the trailing branches of bonsai trees sweeping the lake.
There was no escape from this brilliant superstition.
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, and for a couple of BeKindRewrite prompts: Curdled and Brilliant Superstition.