Danielle Allen
Stories (3/0)
Buckley
Buck sat on the edge of the bank alongside the runoff ditch. Her head bobbed like the bottle of Orange Fanta floating down what some folks called, “The River.” She’d been awake for days. Adjacent to her was the oversized plastic cooler with the precious contents she was guarding. The crinkling of a bag snagged by a metal hanger jolted her awake. She scanned the ditch for the source then, satisfied that there was no immediate danger, turned her attention back to the cooler.
By Danielle Allen3 years ago in Fiction
The Present Tense
The waiter approached the table with menus in hand, “Benvenuto a Mastiano’s.” A thin Spanish accent coated his words. He opened the menu and handed one to Barbara and the other to Frank. “Our wine selection begins on page one. Can I entice you into a bottle for the evening?”
By Danielle Allen3 years ago in Humans