prickly blossom view
veils invading industry
harsh spring survival
oddly arid wind
abates momentarily
tenacious spring seized
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Spring at the Beach
prickly blossom view
veils invading industry
harsh spring survival
oddly arid wind
abates momentarily
tenacious spring seized
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Six Sentence Sunday 4/17
For Six Sentence Sunday this week, I'm posting another part of the same story that I've been working on. [See the previous post for the last 6 from this story] No title for it, yet. You can find links to many other Six Sentence Sunday submissions here.
"How can ya sell pot, if ya don’t smoke it?”
“It’s not mine. It’s my boyfriends’.”
“But he sends you out to sell it… hmm,” he said with a creepy smirk.
The moonlight reflected off the grease and sweat on his rotund face and stringy, thinning hair. They took a few more hits, and then he started talking down to me like I was a school girl that had never gotten high before.
"How can ya sell pot, if ya don’t smoke it?”
“It’s not mine. It’s my boyfriends’.”
“But he sends you out to sell it… hmm,” he said with a creepy smirk.
The moonlight reflected off the grease and sweat on his rotund face and stringy, thinning hair. They took a few more hits, and then he started talking down to me like I was a school girl that had never gotten high before.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Six Sentence Sunday
Hi! I had such a wonderfully friendly response last week with the Six Sentence Sunday gang, that I'm back again this week. This is from something I started to work on, and then never got around to finishing. I'm hoping to get back to it. Click on the link above to see what everyone else is writing.
There was a putrid, bitter taste of disgust that seeped out of a hidden crevice deep inside me. It was the kind of crevice that unwanted memories disappeared into. When B.W. sat back in the car, that taste erupted into rage.
"I want to go back and beat those guys with a tire iron!" I said tightening my jaw in an attempt to bridle the rage. "We could hide in the woods and wait for them..."
There was a putrid, bitter taste of disgust that seeped out of a hidden crevice deep inside me. It was the kind of crevice that unwanted memories disappeared into. When B.W. sat back in the car, that taste erupted into rage.
"I want to go back and beat those guys with a tire iron!" I said tightening my jaw in an attempt to bridle the rage. "We could hide in the woods and wait for them..."
