Dipping her paddle expertly, Sara struggled against the increasingly muscular pull of the current. The sun rose, set, and rose again, unnoticed under the moss-choked cypress trees that canopied the dark creek. Continue reading
“Pull off it. Like a sweater!”
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Like a sweater. Pull! Off! It!”
“Are you having a stroke or something?”
She glared at him, vibrating with rage, and pushed the sleeves of her washed-out taupe cardigan up over her elbows and planted her feet.
He sighed, slid his glasses up his nose. “I have no frikkin’ clue,” he grunted.
It was then that he noticed the linoleum and cinder-black dayroom was empty. Continue reading
He stands on the bank where forest parts to sunrise on the rich strip of green, and lowers his muzzle to feed. Thick grass pops between his rotating jaws, snapping as he tears into clumps of equally satisfying roots.