Maws
A small girl sits at the water’s edge, staring broodily into a sparkling blue sea. Around her is the bustle of a July beach day.
A small girl sits at the water’s edge, staring broodily into a sparkling blue sea. Around her is the bustle of a July beach day.
I wasn’t afraid of them in the way I was scared of the child catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang or the Nazis at the end of Sound of Music.
Sure, it may start with just a high five, but then next thing you know they’re trying to communicate some sort of nonverbal joke…
The sporks emerged a dark red with glowing eyes, described as unnatural utensils of evil, half-spoon and half-fork.
I don’t think the American public would be cool with a zombie prison barge floating off the coast of Louisiana.
“Liar,” she said, correctly.
This was no driftwood; this was my new white whale.
I told myself I’d try to “make a go of it” in the city for a year and then see what happened.
My mother’s birthday is a few days after mine on the 30th, so we’ve always been birthday buddies—though she’s usually pretty happy to let me take the spotlight for myself.
If I met some of my longtime friends today, would they like who I am now? Would I even be me now without the parts of me that are them?