Photo by Krzysztof Kowalik on Unsplash
Powder on powder
Thunders down: screaming avalanche.
Then silence returns.
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About the Creator
Beth Sarah
We've been scribbled in the margins of a story that is patently absurd
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More stories from Beth Sarah and writers in Poets and other communities.
Final Call
She flings her arms around my neck and squeezes me like she’s never going to let me go. My head spins as her lips brush against my cheek. She must be able to feel my heart thumping in my chest. I shuffle backwards and ram my hands into my coat pockets, watching her reach down and heave the rucksack across her shoulders.
By Caroline Craven4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Whew this was fantastic!