With what was supposed to be his good arm, Len positioned the red leather stool into the curve of the curved bar.
Category: Original Fiction
Yawning, seven-year old Jackson woke up from his nap; smiling, stretching and luxuriating in his sick day.
“Kids, it’s been awhile. Should we try to poop in the potty?!”
“He shot her.”
I watched that little trailer for three days and nights until I knew the old man’s routine. And, the whole time I couldn’t stop wondering how somebody like him ended up in a place like this.
Papa was confused when he woke up, and rightfully so.
Steps creak and strange knocking sounds float to my apartment from the basement, and the cat refuses to go downstairs after dark. You can’t blame him, given what happened here.
The witch had seen this same look in a mother’s eye before when such a request was made.
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