I can't look inward. I want to peel the socks off my sizzling feet and wriggle my toes in the spring breeze. Yes, I want to write, but the sun is shining and smiling like my grandmother did. There are hands to hold and hearts to break. The miracles will have to wait.
YOU ARE READING
Flash Fiction and Short-Shorts
RandomAll stories here are 1000 words or less. Though small, they are big in meaning. There are also writing prompts for the dreaded block. The Rochambeau drawing is inspired by one of his portraits; the Lafayette one is not. If you are witty often enou...
