Nothing better than meeting friends of someone you love for the first time, and having almost TOO much to talk about…. than sharing thoughts about writing, blogging and wasting time (or otherwise)… than finding you’re reading the same book… than feeling grateful about just how your world keeps getting bigger.
4 comments:
Samuel Trow knows it’ll be better. Not hearing her voice at his back. Harsh like a crow. Peck, peck, pecking at all his little faults. Turning ‘em over, never seeing gold - though there’s gold there if you look. Samuel picks up his shotgun. Goes out to where she’s hanging clothes.
Ooooo Douglas. I love that one!
Thanks Sarah... this writing thing is a good way to get one's murderous thoughts out there!! And no harm done, really.
:-)
D
The clock's ticking overhead, hanging above her mantelpiece, laughing. Her heart has become a place, a flame darting, licking at the chimney. The pit of her stomach is a grate, its cast iron tendrils cradling glowering coals. Sometimes, she spits onto the carpet, dangerous sparks flying. A real basket case.
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