Writing

A small piece of flash fiction with a humorous twist at the end.

August It was August and summer was thick in the air, like the concentrated efforts of a trapeze artist.

Two twelve year-old girls make a grisly discovery

When Monday's gone and the week ahead is long and I'm dreading that the morning must come. As when summer's just trying to hold on, at times I feel..

An imperfect poem that reflects the beautiful imperfection from within, that sometimes Rhymes and sometimes is freely versed.

Tags summer