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Our prompt for March 2019 was to write a story featuring mist or fog

Congratulations to the winners of our March 2019 competition. Feeling inspired? Have a go at this month's prompt(this will open in a new window).
Heidi’s red balloon disappeared into the hungry mist. A tear rolled down Heidi’s cheek.
‘It’s gone to see Grandpa,’ cuddled Granny. He’d only given it to her three days ago, in the hospital.
‘Goodbye,’ whispered Heidi. And she smiled, as the old grey embraced her little gift of love.
'S iad na spàintean a thog m' aire an toiseach, air sgeilp nan crogan, ann am preasa an anairt. Dh'fhalbh an uair sin ainmean na cloinne agus thòisich na ceistean mu a màthair. Tè a bha san uaigh dà fhichead bliadhna.
A-nis, sùilean sileach ri 'n èiginn ’s a h-inntinn na cheò.
It was the spoons that first attracted my attention, on the pantry shelf, in the linen cupboard. Then went the children’s names and questions began about her mother. Someone who had been in the grave forty years.
Now, eyes water in distress, her mind in a fog.
The sword gleamed, dragon scales littering the lavish furniture, the coppery mist of blood intoxicated the princesses, wrapped her like a wraith. Echoing her heels on marble tiles as she stepped forward, tears crept down her face as she pointed her sword at the knight. She had loved that dragon.
Mist ominously filled the playpark like sheets of white frosting. It covered everything but a lone swing, occupied by a small girl. She sat upright on the swing with her arms and legs crossed like she was in school. Slowly, without her moving, the swing swung higher and higher.

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