I stared at them from across the yard, hands drifting across the pages of a notebook half torn to shreds. Their eyes a color I had never seen before, hidden behind the worn out threads of a hood.
They glanced up for an instant and locked with mine, looking me up and down before gazing into my face.
I shook myself and ran inside, clawing at my clothes to cover every inch of me.
I felt cold and strange.
If I could see their wounds so clearly, could they also see mine?
YOU ARE READING
Flickers
RandomA bundle of blurbs. (from my pinterest comments) Vote for which to expand into full stories! Each of these bits and bobs, odds, and ends was inspired by a pin of a prompt, poem, or picture, so without the pin might make no sense 🥲 But I'm working...
