The Writer
Doug leans back in his Lazyboy and stretches his arms over his head with laced fingers.
Doug leans back in his Lazyboy and stretches his arms over his head with laced fingers.
I relish the fine minutia of perfection.
I hear them, wriggling and squirming, first to my left, then my right, and then it filled my whole world with noise.
Water dripped from high above.
“But what if I hold it like this?
Benny walked into my cubicle and his smile vanished.
Steak was supposed to be on sale.
And as quickly begun, it was finished.
Something green.
The world stuttered in a queer slant as I sat up.
“I know what you did,” said the voice and hung up.
A dense bluff of silver maples grew behind our house.