My life is a little crazy. Four kids, homeschool, hotel clerk, write, create and coffee. Coffee is a verb. Do you coffee? I aspire to blow glass and finish / publish my novel. I would like to have an impact. Also, coffee.
Her words drifted to me like grains of sand on a breeze. “What do you notice?” My eyes darted from left to right but I saw nothing. I felt warm. I heard a steadily increasing rhythm. A train maybe... Yes, a train. But its hypnotic chugging wasn’t the strongest sensation I had.
Here, There be Dragons
"There weren't always dragons in the valley," Simeon whispered softly to his daughter Sage and gripped her hand. The storm was raging outside their weathered hovel, a sanctuary, but in the distance they could still hear the roar of a lurking monster. "What happened?" she whispered almost imperceptibly. They were huddled, hunched down away from the windows in the dark. Only the moonlight on the wooden floor created any visibility in the one room shelter. They were close enough that she could see her father's breath hanging in the air as he began "Time happened."
I was young enough to fear what was in the shadows, but old enough to pretend like I didn't. So as I walked the street alone I held my chin high and wore a confident smirk. The night was beautiful but unassuming. The fallen leaves littered the wet pavement like confetti after a parade. The moon was high in the clear sky and the only sound was the echo of my heels on the empty street. It was just me and the unknown.
The famous Mila Wainwright died surrounded only by her many regrets. She was discovered by her agent, laying on a purple tufted chaise, still clutching an unsent letter. The cause of death was of little interest to anyone compared to her estate. After years of being blinded by the spotlight’s glory, Mila had acquired quite a sum and lived in extravagance. Now the scavengers had come.
Zola & The Heart
The Prophet paced the floor and wrung his hands. “Oh the world burned again, just like it always does,” he complained. “Consume the people with sickness, and their love for blame destroys them. Literally—it didn’t take long for the bombs to drop.” He held an hourglass in his hands and peered into it, “see, there they go… run little scavengers. Yes, pull yourselves out of the rubble and create your factions to survive, that will work.” He sighed.