We don’t see the same
They say blue skies all around
All I know is grey
About the Creator
Jessie Linn
Oregonian, mother, friend, lover of words, writing and alternative perspectives.
“To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it’s about, but the music the words make.” — Truman Capote.
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The Spring
The sun was high when Lance pulled off the road and into the dusty lot of the service station. The sign back at the hairpin--the first sign in a long time--said they just rolled into Hatter’s Creek, Population 63. It was small enough it didn’t appear on the handmap in Shelby’s lap, yet here it stood, the first backwater township on the fringes of the National Park. The plan was to gas up, restock the snack bag, and press on into the wilderness.
By Zack Graham4 days ago in Fiction
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