She perched, edge and center, on the metal folding chair, ankles crossed and angled toes barely touching the floor, her SoftRose painted lips pursed, her eyebrows raised even higher above their normally penciled boundaries, a single vertical line deepening between those brows, but slightly favoring the left, while two small circles of color heated each cheek, as if they’d been purposefully applied with a sable brush. Continue reading
“Where the heck did I put it?” Tommy yanked the silverware drawer open, as far as it would go, and bent down to look into its dark corners. Continue reading
It could have been a field of flowers, apricot sunrise honeying all. It could have been a berry patch, spread round with her the center, fingers damp with morning dew. It might’ve even been a dragon’s hoard, doubloons spilling from ruby-studded chalices, heavy pendants on worked, chain necklaces, diamond and emerald tiara resting on her head, proclaiming her queen of all she surveyed. Continue reading
Source: Matt Fraser
“I’ll get that for you,” murmured Kathy, sighing, as she rose to fetch her mother’s favorite wool blanket; it had been in the family for ages, but it was the one Elinore had always favored. Continue reading
The storage closet was packed with slides, cellulose family movies, and photo albums (these last, at least, were sorted and labeled). Continue reading
They could’ve gone to the right
To the tidy brown cottage in the ring of aspens.
Goat nibbling happily on the turf roof.
It had reminded them of home.
But they went left.
To the gingerbread house with the candy kitchen. Continue reading
Winslow Homer 1893
The falling snow piled around his hut, the shelter he’d built at the edge of the woods, from stone and fallen trees, meadow grass and mud, the retreat that was far enough away from the Hold that he rarely got visitors, but near enough that he could watch the lights wink out in the north tower when the weather was clear. Continue reading
Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
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