“Children can’t come in.” The woman in uniform crossed her arms as she barred the entrance.
“But Matron, we’ve driven over a hundred miles to see the baby.”
“You go in and these two stay on the verandah. Can’t risk newborns with children’s germs.
“I’ll be quick.”
“Don’t worry Mum. We’ll play hopscotch in the shadows.”
Unobserved the figure watched from the shadows of the red bench, approaching the verandah when the adults had gone.
“I’ll show you the baby.”
“But the germs.”
“You ain’t got germs.” Trusting they followed, fulfilling the cycle of life and death.
In response to Friday Fictioneers. The photo is the PROMPT. Where does it take you? Tell me in a hundred words or less.