Fig, having patched up the little tear in her skirt, danced around her little nook in the hollow, humming the tune of Morning's chorus as she polished and dusted a few of her things before hopping out of her nook and out of the hollow. Squirrel pelted past her as a shock of russet, her fur colour a perfect copy of the leaves of the forest. Fig peered at the distant figure of Squirrel, shaking her head. Squirrel was chasing a cousin of hers, presumably because he had stolen an acorn or two from her. With a shrug, still humming, Fig climbed down from the tree and merrily went on her way, trying not to scream when a leaf enveloped her. Shoving her panic away, she crawled out from under the leaf and, upon getting to her feet, shook herself and hastily dusted herself off. Fig was too busy hurrying to get to chorus on time that she didn't realise her back and some of her hair were covered in scattered fragments of leaf litter, soil and animal waste. Or maybe she simply didn't care.
> 'Bear', 2016
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Spontanéité
NouvellesA collection of some bits and pieces of my written works. These bits and pieces weren't all spontaneous pieces of writing, though. They're descriptions of people, places and memories, and maybe they're short stories or other things. I don't know, it...
