Her discontent presses down like humidity, tainting everything it touches. He scrubs the pan, hunching over the sink, channeling his
She sat in the window seat watching the countryside fly by. It wasn’t yet winter but the window fogged up
Is everything what it seems like?
The water snaked down the window, gathering into rivulets and joining a stream that wound its way to the spout
This is my entry to Day Eighteen of Writing 101 at The Daily Post. Today’s prompt: write this story in
He breezed in one Monday morning looking dapper in his business casual. I sat at my desk watching his head
The sky was blue. The kind of blue that reminds you of kites and ice creams. Of all things gloriously
“Funny how fate plays its hand” She says wistfully looking at water lapping along the edge in front of her. She