Elizabeth Jean Bowie
Stories (2/0)
The Desk
Though the sky was heavy hung with creamy terracotta clouds like the fleshy belly of a salmon— clouds that promised rain to come— Doll did not give a second thought to the laundry she had left out on the washing line. Something had happened, something so inexplicably wonderful that even now, when she held the slip of paper with her name and that number printed in such wondrous, terrifying proximity that she could scarce believe it, or even allow herself to consider believing it.
By Elizabeth Jean Bowie3 years ago in Humans
The Desk
Though the sky was heavy hung with creamy terracotta clouds like the fleshy belly of a salmon— clouds that promised rain to come— Doll did not give a second thought to the laundry she had left out on the washing line. Something had happened, something so inexplicably wonderful that even now, when she held the slip of paper with her name and that number printed in such wondrous, terrifying proximity that she could scarce believe it, or even allow herself to consider believing it.
By Elizabeth Jean Bowie3 years ago in Humans