Snarling quill
It's the other way around; the quill snarls at me if I don't pick it up
Thursday, December 15, 2016
Short stories - Walking away series #4
Walking away from her fresh grave, he wiped a tear off his craggy face. For the first time in fifty years, they were going to sleep apart.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Newer Post
Older Post
Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment