On the first warm day of spring, she remembered a dear friend. Continue reading “My Sunday rest”
She awoke sitting upright in a plush, maroon armchair. Her return to consciousness was abrupt but gentle, marked only by her eyes opening and flitting around the room.
“Ah, finally,” a voice said, “she deigns to join us in the land of the living.” Continue reading “The winter visit”
As her day draws to a close, Penelope Pejorilocke adds items to her List of Peeves, as she always does on her least-favorite day of the week. It’s gotten very long in the last few months, so she turns to a new page in her flowered journal and uncaps a pen. Today’s peeves are as follows: Continue reading “Peevish”
She sits in a room filled with clothes, trinkets, and warmth. As others take to the streets, her eyes stare at the wall. Continue reading “Getting out of bed for a war”
“Wow,” Craig said, still slumped in the seat he’d staggered over to after regaining his senses. “That’s definitely going to be in my memoir.” Continue reading “So I was hit by a car the other day”
The day after it happened, he could feel smug smiles everywhere. They crept up his back and gave him shudders. The world had ended, so why was half of it celebrating? Continue reading “A departure”
She was confused about the macaroons, and told him so. Continue reading “Nothing sacred”