For today prompt, I’ve asked my daughters who would like to write about “heal”.
I love their writing: poetry or short stories. My heart always melts when I read their words.
My eldest wanted to know if it is because “I couldn’t be bothered” to write a post.  I’ve told them for a month I will challenge myself and write a post every day. No, it’s not a way to escape from this.
The youngest accepted the challenge. She is 9 years old.
Before the agreement in principle, I had the usual lesson on how to pronounce it. For me, with my strong French accent, “heal”, “heel” “ill”, “eel” sound the same. I’ve tried and tried but funnily the French is stronger. Damn! When I talk, I can see the confusion on certain faces: I know I didn’t say the word properly. Then I try again and it is even more laughable.

So firstly, she wrote a few sentences defining the word.  “It would be good if you write a poem,” I said. Inspiration can be tricky sometimes however in less than 5 minutes she wrote this text:

Hey, you! You are going to be fine
Either they give you a plaster or wipe it up.
Are you allergic to anything?
Lastly, they’ll say you’ve been very brave, and normally, give you a sticker or a teddy.

She is speaking from experience for sure. She has received a few teddies and stickers in the past years.

Lots of people are dreaming of this word. It’s like a laboured obsession. The ultimate goal to reach: a tumultuous, depressing or unrealistic goal.
The journey to heal-land: motorways, buses, trains, planes; pain, tears, painkillers, resignation. Hours in a waiting room among lost eyes and rictus. Each pair hoping they will hear the word over-expected, the right diagnostic.

Heal-land or Utopia, you use the one the most suitable.
I wish all sufferers to reach this peaceful country where all pains are  non-existent, hearts are beating and bodies regenerate.

The teddy for hugs and comfort;
The sticker to acknowledge your bravery, better to place it on your chest;
Are you allergic to any medicines? You receive at last a new treatment, the rictus became a smile;
A cotton to wipe the excess of blood from any blood tests, each appointment ending with you leaving a part of you behind.
H for Hotel
E for Echo
A for Alpha
L for Lima.

Grammarians, English language wardens I apologise…