Fiction

Traveling

Fishing

Crafting

Television

Bird Watching

Collecting

Music

It takes the anger and everapates it

Till it 

Drips 

Drips

Drips

 Boots hit shattered pavement. A rain soaked leather trench coat flows in a soft gust of the wind. A man turns a corner. Hunched figures eye him from a building––both viciously and desperately. It’s the dead of night.

         Jeanne’s parents stood perfectly still as though they were stone pillars. They felt like they had been standing for years; their limbs were sinking into the ground. 

It was on those rare nights when my mother, after working long shifts, reserved a portion of her energy to comply with my request for a bedtime story. I don’t remember the book I picked out.

     First love. The one you’ll never forget, never truly get over. Knowing that if there was ever the chance you’d run back in a heartbeat, but at the same time realizing that it was never meant to be.

It was a sunny summer day when I woke up. One of those perfect days where the sun is shining but it's not too hot, the birds are chirping and gliding through the sky, and there is a light breeze. I got out of bed and did my morning routine.

I lay on the rocky ground of a trail in the woods,

Looking up at the blue sky with the birds dancing gracefully above the clouds.

The little barrette that pins back the hair on the left side of my face, I wear it every day. Silver and studded with diamonds, it’s my favorite accessory.