They part ways at the Sea of Indecision, her reaching for his hand, him leaving a kiss on the wind. Years pass. The sea dries away. She tells her son of red flags, of surrender, bad omens, perturbation. “But could you swim?” asks her son.
“Hm?” Yellow inquired, eyebrows arched high. “She told me to #pluck my chin hair before I considered talking to her.” “Ah.” He glared at the woman, cringing at the other end of the attic. “Ey, lotsa lady werewolves have-“ “Who cares? We got dinner. Skin and clean it.”
Joy washed-up with baby wipes between a Kia and pick-up. Her clothes were the last remnants of a miserable marriage, long gone. A saxophone’s soulful #cadence wafted through an upstairs window into her alley home– respite from daily pain, lulling her to sleep.
The rain spills secrets. During storms, Layce sits on the sidewalk and soaks in as many as her prying ears can fit. Yesterday, the rain whispered her parents didn’t love each other anymore. It hissed as it washed over and drowned her in sorrow. 1/2 The rain spills secrets and the sun dries them away. […]
The war started with miniscule acts of violence. Taz and Jen held hands on their balcony. Blasts below trembled their building. “Bring it down!” “There.” Taz nudged Jen’s attention to a ray of amber light through the smoke. Her smile was soft, final. “The sun rose.”