Britney Paterson
Bio
Stories (2/0)
Good Bone Meat
Momma said there were bones in the woods. Not the soft kind you find in meat. The brittle kind, the old ones. Papa hunted with a rusty rifle he kept in the shed. The old wood kind that don’t work too well. He always came back with mud on his shoes, but only sometimes with blood on his hands. Those were the days we ate good. Soft bone meat kinda good.
By Britney Paterson3 years ago in Fiction
Tiny Suns
They watched their world burn through the cockpit window of the ship that was supposed to save them. Nora stood with eyes the color of despair, her heart-shaped locket burning a scar into her palm. The ship’s metal hummed with the engines keeping them alive; the push and pull of sorrowed lungs breathed echoes that spoke nothing of the hellscape miles beneath them.
By Britney Paterson3 years ago in Fiction