small fowl of flushed plume-
whistle on and keep your pitch,
scaling faultlessly
About the Creator
Vivian Grace
Long into the tomorrow- At the end of my road, I will crave and pursue sentimental recollection of young insight. By way of trying to preserve some morsels of curiosity, I am fostering my contentment. Without a voice of musing, what are we?
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The Longest Minute
A minute. Sixty seconds to say goodbye. That’s all the time that I had left with him as the needle slid into his leg. I stared into his drooping eyes, looked at the blood-tainted saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. They said that this was the best thing that we could do for him, a last kind act for a best friend…but if that were the case, then why did my heart feel so heavy?
By Stephanie Hoogstad7 days ago in Fiction
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