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I’m going to share something completely different today!
I was working on this new story yesterday, and I can’t remember when I’ve felt so inspired. Six hours or so flew by while I was making notes about scenes.
It’s about a woman who had a close-knit friend group when she was in her mid-twenties, but it fell apart when they gradually went their own separate ways. A few twists of fate bring her old friends back into her life again…along with her unrequited crush on one of them.
That’s right, there’s no magic in this one…other than the magic of returning to some good times you thought were gone for good, and maybe getting a second chance at love. But that’s plenty of magic right there, don’t you think?
Before I share a snippet, let me explain Work in Progress Wednesday!
This is where I share a snippet of what I’m working on and invite writers to do the same! WIP Wednesday is usually the first Wednesday of the month.
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Please follow these guidelines!
•Keep your excerpt to 200 words or fewer. If you post a longer piece, I may trim it.
•Don’t share scenes with graphic violence or sex. Salty language and innuendo are both fine.
•You can link to your website, but don’t link to work for sale.
•Don’t question or criticize others’ work. However, kind words are good writer karma!
Here’s my excerpt!
“It’s my fortieth birthday!” I announce to the bartender.
I don’t know why. Maybe I think he’ll give me a free drink. Or tell me I look way too young to be forty. Maybe I think he has a cupcake with sprinkles hidden behind the bar, for special birthday girls.
Instead, he says, “Oh, yeah? Your friends meeting you here?”
This guy is bad at his job. But apparently I was bad at mine, too. Otherwise, I’d still have it.
“Uh, no. My friends are back in Chicago,” I improvise, waggling my phone.
“Ah. You just moved to New York?”
“Yeah.”
I moved to New York twelve years ago. When you worked at an ad agency, days, nights, and weekends, it was hard to make friends, other than work friends. And as I’d learned that week, there was a more accurate word for those: coworkers.
“That’s just sad,” he says. “Hey, we’ll get everyone to sing happy birthday.”
“Oh, no. No,” I say, waving my hands.
He yells at the crowd. “Hey!” He points at me. “It’s her birthday, and she doesn’t have any friends!”
Dozens of faces look over, and immediately I know they are not going to sing.
Your turn! Share your own writing below.
Because I always have a client deadline on Friday, I usually read and respond to these over the weekend, so don’t feel bad if I don’t say anything right away!
You can also just tell us about how your writing is going—triumphs, setbacks, struggles, and plans! Thanks so much for stopping by, and have a great rest of your week!
From my first draft of my novel Her Hidden Star:
The interviewer asked what his perfect day with this woman would be. We’d linger in bed until we had no choice but to get out of bed. I’d make breakfast because I make the best scrambled eggs. She’d make coffee because who doesn’t know how to make a good cup of coffee? We’d then do something outside. Even yard work. I like women who can work alongside me. Then we’d go to a dive bar somewhere for greasy bar food and a beer. Or a margarita. Depends on the mood. We’d hit the dance floor and then head home.
Trisha laughed. Another cryptic message for her hidden in media sight. The InstaLook post Marinda got excited about the day before was one hundred percent for her. Of course, Trisha could have come clean but sometimes it was fun to watch Marinda fawn over a man she’d been married to for the last six years.
<Doesn’t that sound amazing for me?>
Trisha didn’t know whether to laugh or take pity. Trisha didn’t want to respond. Instead, she returned to her favorite spot in the bed, resting her head on Harrison’s bare chest, her arms draped over him like he was a human body pillow.
The intrigue… I like it!
Sounds like I’d want to turn the page.
Hi Megan! Very interesting. That sounds like a pretty ideal day to me. Thanks for posting! Have a great week!
Pulling in a deep breath, she swiped to talk. “Van, is everything okay?”
“Mommy?” she whispered.
“Hannah! What’s wrong?” Her daughter was long past calling her mommy.
“Dad shouted, and it woke me up. Then someone else shouted back. Then there was a crash. I woke Jimmy up, and we hid in the closet.”
“Honey, is that where you are now?” That didn’t make sense, since Hannah was using Van’s phone.
“No.” She still whispered. “We heard a big bang, then more noises. I waited until it was quiet for a long time, then went out to find dad. I made Jimmy stay in the closet.”
Trisha’s heart pounded, and her hands shook. She could only think that the bang was a gun-shot, but it didn’t make sense. She wished she was there with her daughter. “Is your dad okay?”
Hannah sniffled. “He’s bleeding and won’t wake up.”
Trisha’s breath seized in her lungs. What if the shooter was still in the house? She couldn’t chance Hannah taking the phone into hiding and have it ring, giving away her location to the shooter. “Honey, listen carefully, then do what I tell you.”
A nice suspenseful scene!
Hi Debby! Oh nooo, that is such a scary scene! I love the detail of her reverting to “Mommy” because she’s scared. Great stuff. Thanks for sharing!
From my travel rom-com:
“We’re flying in that?”
Even when standing on solid ground, the sight of the tiny, flamingo-pink plane made Amelia dizzy. Oh no. Oh no.
“Don’t let its’ size scare you,” Joe said. He looked at the plane with what Amelia could only describe as fondness, like he was greeting an old friend. “This is the sturdiest aircraft in the Seven Seas.”
“Did it fly out of a Happy Meal?” Amelia asked bleakly.
Amelia looked back and forth between Joe and the Cessna doubtfully. The name Dream House was emblazoned in bright blue script along the side of the plane, which gleamed in the early morning sun like a proud little bubblegum deathtrap. The humid Florida air encircled Amelia like a damp hug, and she already felt like she was slowly suffocating. Planes and Amelia did not get along. And yet here they were, up with the sun at a small, private airport on the outskirts of the Everglades. They’d seen an alligator on their drive in.
“Well, I do my best to keep her out of the sea, but you’re not wrong about her being sturdy,” a voice with a slight German accent said from within the hangar.
OMG!! I have to read the rest of this! Love the Happy Meal and pink bubble gum references!
I love the symbolism, this looks intriguing.
“Did it fly out of a Happy Meal?” Amelia asked bleakly. I am DEAD. That is brilliant! “proud little bubblegum deathtrap” hahahaha. I love this whole excerpt! It’s inspiring me! 🙂
She pushed open the door and stepped into freedom.
The stink of hot garbage hit her first, but it wasn’t what caused her knees to shake and a panicked scream to shriek from her lungs.
The bottom half of a body, face down, stuck out from behind the dumpster. Pepper clamped her hand over her mouth to stop the shrieking. It’s the same move her mother had used all those years ago to keep them safe until the danger had passed. It had been a long time since Pepper had needed to stop a scream and even longer since she’d let her mother stop one for her.
But never, in all those times of fear, had she seen what she was seeing now. Seeing it in the alley behind Potter’s Catfish Dive made it worse. She dropped her hand to exhale. She stared at the body. She should do something. Or was it too late?
She tiptoed to it and tapped it with her foot. It didn’t respond. She shoved her hand in her pocket and pulled out her penny, then remembered and shoved it back in. “Friday the 13th. A lucky penny has no power over Friday the 13th. Or a dead body.”
Nice!
This is good, the end makes me want to see more.
Hi Deborah! Ohhhh my goodness. Somehow the hot garbage smell really adds to the shock and horror. This is really good. Thanks for sharing! I hope you have a great week.
Ooooohh! Your story sounds fun!
The Deputy’s Outlaw Bride
Historical Romance Oak Grove, KS
Deputy Miller Gannon lifted the sketch to the sunlight. “This the gal who whacked you on the head, Fred?”
“Said it was.”
The corner of Miller’s mouth twitched. He was hard pressed to ball the paper up and toss it in the garbage. With Jessup back behind bars, it was time to find his cohort. “You sure?”
“What more do you want?” Fred jabbed his pudgy finger at the paper. “See here, she’s skinny like that.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Miller mumbled. “Twig-like.”
“Yep,” Fred said.
“Eyes as big as Moore’s biscuits?”
“Green. Not grassy green. Mossy, the color on the west side of the oaks.”
Miller perused the stick figure with the oversized eyes and big lips. He wouldn’t ask about her mouth. “What about her hair?”
“As fer as I could tell she ain’t had none. All under her hat.”
“A bonnet?”
Fred pointed to Miller’s hat hanging on a rusty nail. “Like that. Brown, wide-brimmed. And britches.”
Now that Penelope Garrett had made wearing men’s fashion acceptable in Oak Grove, the britches detail was as useless as a dog tied up on a frayed rope. The hat however, reminded him of another gal.
One he couldn’t shake from his mind.
Christina, this was making me smile from the first line. I could hear these two in my head! Love it. Hope you have a great week!
She stopped at a tasting table where two little chalkboard signs sat in the middle of a tray of cheese, crackers, and jam. Beautiful cursive writing scrolled across each, one detailing the creamy goat cheese and the other highlighting locally made raspberry jam. Unable to resist, Hannah scooped up the cheese on a cracker and using a tiny silver spoon topped it with a dollop of jam. She popped the treat in her mouth and let out a hushed moan. It was delicious.
She spun around to see which wines on the shelf behind her were recommended as a pairing when she bumped into a man hurrying past.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there,” she said, embarrassed.
He turned to face her and placed his hand on her arm to steady her. “No, it’s my fault. I was rushing past.” He gazed down at her with mocha eyes and she glimpsed something familiar, something that went far beyond a simple glance.
He canted his head, his eyes narrowing into a question, an answer, a surprised realization.
“Hannah?” His husky voice strained.
“Callan?” Her mouth went dry.
Okay, first of all this made me VERY hungry! Haha. And then the great moment of recognition! I wanted to see more! Thanks for posting!
First draft, unfinished, A Wedding Carol
The caterer was dead, to begin with.
At least he would be when she got her hands on him. Ellie was usually a calm and reasonable person, but this morning seemed to be the exception. Not that she thought anyone would really blame her. In fact, she was pretty sure she could convince a judge that it was justifiable homicide. Or at the very least temporary insanity; she was under quite a lot of stress at the moment.
She shook her head. No, murder was not the answer. It wasn’t his fault after all. It was her fault for insisting on a winter wedding. She had planned for snow. It snowed every year in December. What she hadn’t expected was record overnight snowfall that shut down their corner of the state. Several main roads were still blocked and only half the snow plows were in service. The rest they were still trying to dig out.
“Miss Scott, are you still there?” he asked.
“Yes, I am. Just thinking about how and what I am going to feed a hundred plus people tonight,” she answered, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Killer opening, DC (pun intended, I guess!) I loved the Dickens homage in the first line, and then the second line cracked me up. Great stuff! Thanks for posting. Have a good week!
I wanted to share a snippet from my Novella “the Founding of Eurosa” that I’ve been working on.
A deafening screech ripped through the air, and the ground vibrated as something heavy slammed its tail. Powerful legs stomped the earth as the creature unfurled vast, dark wings, scales catching the dim twilight, its reptilian form was a mass of muscle and bone, its head a grotesque parody of a bird of prey, with a jagged, hooked beak, a row of sharp teeth, and eyes burning with predatory malice, locked onto Ethan and Emma.
“It’s a wyvern,” Emma commented as she nocked an arrow and glanced at Ethan. “What is it doing so close to the edge of the forest?”
“Worry about that after we kill it.” Ethan stated as he unclasped his cloak and let it fall to the ground, his sword already halfway drawn.
While rare, wyverns existed in the Arden Thicket back near Everhold, but deep in the woods where few hunters dared to patrol, the nature of wyverns seemed to keep them in seclusion, but they were also territorial.
The wyvern screeched again and bolted forward, reaching with its long neck to try and bite into Ethan.
Ethan sidestepped the strike and brought his sword up, the blade cutting deeply into the wyvern’s wing, causing the avian lizard to stumble and fall on its side.
Hi John! Ooh, great physical details. I felt that entrance! I never come across wyverns in stories! Love it. Have a great week!
Hi Bryn, Thanks, I’m glad you enjoyed it! Yes, I feel like wyverns are criminally underused sometimes, so figured why not use one? Have a great week too!
First draft of my current WIP.
Nina’s gaze landed on the vanity, a battlefield of forgotten lip glosses and half-empty perfume bottles. With a guttural sound, she swept her arm across the surface, sending a cascade of cosmetics crashing to the floor. The clatter echoed in the silence. A framed photo of her and a group of high school friends, all bright smiles and youthful optimism, stared back at her from the nightstand. She snatched it up and hurled it against the wall. The glass shattered. The sound was sharp and satisfying, like a release. But it wasn’t enough. The room still held the ghost of her teenage self, the girl who had dreamed of happily ever after and perfect love stories. A half-finished journal lay open on her desk, filled with angsty poetry and scribbled song lyrics. She ripped out a page, crumpling it in her fist, and then another, and another, until the floor was littered with torn paper.
She paused, her breath ragged her heart pounding, her shoulders heaving. The room was a mess, a reflection of the chaos inside her. It still wasn’t enough. The purple walls, the faded posters, the lingering scent of vanilla and teenage dreams… they all needed to go. They were a constant reminder of a past she was desperate to escape. The real destruction, she knew, was yet to come, because no matter how many birthdays she celebrated, no matter how far she ran from home, one thing always remained the same. She would never, ever, stop wanting her mommy.
Hi Brooke! This was such an emotional scene. Great job with the details of her teenage bedroom, the sounds, the action. I really enjoyed it and I really felt for her!
A little project I am working on…
“Hi. I’m Heidi Morgan. I’m supposed to report to Jason Stone.”
Heidi sat on a blue wing-back chair, which was much more stylish than comfortable, and waited.
Jason was about 30 and looked as if he hadn’t slept in several days. She followed him to a large room containing several peeling faux wood tables and well-used office chairs. There were about 25 other people in the room, many of whom turned and looked at her curiously.
“Guys, this is Heidi. Todd, would you mind showing her the ropes?” asked Jason in a voice filled with fatigue, running a hand along the stubble on his chin. He didn’t wait for an answer before leading Heidi to a chair next to a guy in his early 20s with a shaggy blond mullet that looked like it needed a trim and possibly a shampoo.
Todd nodded in greeting and studied Heidi with hooded hazel eyes for a few seconds.
“I guess you’re replacing Carrie. She’s in jail now.” Todd spoke in a cross between a drawl and a monotone and didn’t seem to express any surprise that his former coworker was incarcerated. Heidi heard a little bit of muffled laughter from somewhere in the room.
“Uh, that’s unfortunate.” Heidi didn’t really know how else to respond.
Hi Susan! Great introduction to some characters here! I really liked Heidi’s line at the end. That’s probably how I would respond, too. Have a great week!
Been a long time since I’ve been here. Health problems took precedence. I am putting together all the poetry I’ve written for the past forty years as well as many spontaneous deep thoughts and outrageous thinking. The piece below is a thank you to my daughter (which I will include) after spending an heart touching and beautiful twelve days with her in her home. Hope you enjoy it.
Majesty of Her
My time at your luxurious estate offered me an aura of tranquility, safety, and peace. It was like magic but, oh so, real. Your warmth, love and caring gave me a long sought after peace of mind. I am grateful for you invitation, you open arms, open heart and your open soul. The majesty of you touches all those around you. I am blessed to take ownership of providing the vessel that brought you into this world. I am humbled and proud to share your majesty and magic with all those who are fortunate enough to cross your path. Pride overwhelms me when the opportunity arises to introduce you as daughter. My love for you is infinite.
As Always
Toi et Moi
Your Mom
JAN! So good to hear from you. I’m so sorry to hear about the health problems. I hope you’re doing better!
This is so lovely. It made me tear up a little. I am so glad your daughter was there for you, and she’s lucky to have to for a mom. Thank you for sharing! I hope you have a good week.
This is my first “romantasy”, involving the most haunted place in England, Cannock Chase, Staffordshire. It’s called, Faerie.
England, present day
They were right, mused Chrissy, standing before a pile of bricks and stones, overgrown by the foliage so dense about it. The land was quick to reclaim what rightfully belonged to it. If this was Thornburn Castle, there wasn’t anything left to discover.
She was deep in thought when a gruff voice, in his heavy, Staffordshire accent, made her jump.
“Ye shouldn’t be here, you know,” said the old fellow.
Chrissy took in his cleanly shaven chin, dour expression and fuzzy white hair. He wore no cap on his head, and the wind was blowing the longish strands in one direction before changing its mind to come at them from a different way.
“Oh, is it off limits? I didn’t know. I…”
“No,” he interrupted, his hand, palm up. “It’s not that. It’ s just…these woods aren’t safe, ye see. Lots of other folk in these woods, though we dare not speak of them now.”
“Other folk?” A chill coursed its way down her spine.
“Aye.” The old man paused, then waved her to follow. “Come with me. We can go where it’s safe to tell ye of this place. Cannock Chase is not the place to do it.”
Well call me intrigued. Castles, a fantasy romance, or “romantasy” as you so elegantly put it. This looks interesting, a nice hook!
This looks really interesting, I love old castles. I’d really like to read more.
Hi Sonia! Oooh, this sounds like so much fun. I love the setting. really hope we get to see more! Thanks for posting. Have a great week!
Hi, Bryn!
I loved your excerpt, especially that last line. I could easily imagine the looks on the other customers’ faces. 😂
And here is my excerpt with my two lead antagonists………..
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Mark Caten’s customer fixed a leering smile on Preyuna.
She met his leer with barely concealed disdain but remained silent and still.
Mark Caten handed a printout to the customer. “This is my estimate with the terms and conditions we’ve already discussed.” He smiled pleasantly. “Anything else I can help you with?”
“Besides letting me take your prized trophy home with me—-”
“Hahahahahahaha! Oh, that won’t happen. I enjoy her too much.”
The customer laughed. “That’s what I figured you’d say. But it was worth a shot.”
Mark Caten stood and shook hands with him. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
“The pleasure is yet to be seen.”
“Hahaha! Don’t worry. My employees will do as they are told. They won’t disappoint you.”
“That’s good to know.” He leered at Preyuna one more time before following Caten to the door.
Preyuna quietly pondered the pros versus the cons of transforming the two of them into matching salt and pepper shakers that she’d sell at the seediest possible pawn shop. With a little bit of luck, they’d both be shoved to the back of a shelf where no one would ever notice them.
It would serve them both right.
Matching salt and pepper shakers—hahaha! Great dialogue here, too! Thank you for posting—I always love it. And thanks for the kind words, too! I hope you have a good week!
All of my novels either include significant fantasy or comedy elements, so this plain mystery novel has been throwing me for a loop. It’s been a fun learning experience, though! The tentative title is “Roanoke”.
“Look, I’m telling you.” Mira’s full-out crying. It makes her look years younger. Or maybe older, with the smeared mascara looking like Celtic warpaint. “Midge is the landlord. She’s my foster mom. I was in there because of a noise complaint, okay?”
Anders raps his knuckle against my elbow. “A word?” We step out into the hall. “Look, I know you don’t buy it.”
“How could anyone? ‘I just found the passports!’ It’s obviously an act.”
“Hey, I agree, Reed. Chill. I just think…maybe we’d be better served playing along.”
I snort. “Right, because the good cop bad cop routine is totally going to work.”
Anders lowers his voice. “No. I mean…we let her think she won.”
“What, and let her go?”
Anders’ eyes dart around deserted hallway, as if someone is eavesdropping. “Yeah.”
“Anders. This isn’t even our jurisdiction.”
“Oh come on. What are the feds going to get out of her? I say we let her lead us back to her lair.”
Hi Karissa! I know what you mean…I wrote one book with no magic, and it felt a little strange. And my new project with no magic feels a bit that way, too! Good dialogue here and great image with Mira’s smeared makeup. Thanks for posting! Have a great week!
From a short story I just started!
There is a land that sits flat and still for miles. If you had a really good playlist or audiobook on; then you wouldn’t even notice the time it took you to drive through it.
There is folklore and myths around its many corners, but nothing to really capture the imagination. Maybe the one about an octopus in a lake somewhere. But you’d be hard pressed to find someone who cares enough to look.
In a town called Stein where the neighbors have had the same last name for generations-you could be tempted to stay while.
It was yellow in summer and green right before winter. It smelled of cinnamon and apple all year round, and the only calamity you’d run into was the threat of tornadoes that never spun up. And death, mostly of old age.
Here the children grow and leave, and often return. Their hearts beat loudly; reminding them of the land’s call.
Reminding them of the fact that they were cultivated of dust and sweat, not so much blood. They’d hear sirens, and feel warm rain on their heads. The scent of wet farmland and crushed apples that told them home was back there. Far back.
Hi Stephanie! I love the meditative voice here. It’s a really evocative passage. Thank you so much for sharing! I hope you have a good week!
I hope this isn’t too salty. It’s from my current WIP, towards the end, where the MMC (Rhys – Welsh) takes the MFC (Taylor – American) to meet his family in Wales. The two of them go to a local pub, where some of his old friends are going to provide live music:
As he led Taylor back to the band, her arm tucked into his, she looked back at Rhys with a slightly bemused grin, much the same as many women had worn when swept along by the force of nature that was Siôn Davies.
As luck would have it, as Rhys approached, a couple of older customers were vacating a small table near the bar. Before anyone else could nab it, he dumped his leather jacket on one of the chairs, then made his way to a vacant spot in the barman’s line of sight. Drinks duly ordered, he carried his and Taylor’s to their table—a pint for him and a white wine for her—and arrived at the band with a tray of various pints of alcohol just in time to hear his name being taken in vain.
“Whatever he’s telling you, it isn’t true, and I have witnesses to corroborate it.” Rhys set the tray down on the table to one side of the makeshift stage area.
“Are you sure about that?” Siôn’s grin was too smug for Rhys’ peace of mind. “I was just telling Taylor that, if she hasn’t found out already, you’re hung like a horse.”
Rhys shook his head and started handing out the drinks. “We all know it’s just jealousy, hamster dick.”
Hi Christie! It’s pretty salty, but it made me laugh, so I’ll allow it, hahaha! This sounds like a really fun project. I hope you have a great week!
Loved your snippet. Great hook.
Aww thank you Denise! I’m really enjoying it. Have a great week!
Following an eight-month hiatus, here is Part Two of my Relocation Prompt extract:
I felt satisfied with the backyard playground and built-in pool that accompanied our lavish new house. Somehow, i also felt eager to settle in asap, although i’m not sure about everyone else. When I got out of the car and opened the door for the kids, I noticed that they both looked tired. And far from enthusiastic. This wouldn’t deter me regardless.
I watched the removal men offload the last of the furniture and carry them into my new house. Behind the removal van was a minivan with our boxes of cleaning supplies. Our front door had the number 35, and I had punched in the full address into my trusted satnav: 35 Black Oak Drive.
I felt the crisp autumn air bite my cheeks as I took in the image of our new Bailey Downs home from the outside. This is it, I thought to myself. The beginning of a new start for me and my family.
Hi Amy! This scene is so real…moving can be so tiring but so exciting. I love how she’s feeling the fresh start! Have a great week!
I’m working on the final edits of my 3000-word short story ‘Depolymerisation’. In ‘Depolymerisation’, a young woman researcher reflects on her rise to Nobel Prize fame after discovering bacteria that digests plastic. Her breakthrough sparked global hope of a solution to persistent plastic pollution. But the solution spirals into catastrophe as the bacteria devours all plastic, collapsing modern infrastructure and technology. Once hailed as a hero, she becomes a pariah, forced into anonymity and reclusion. Told with hindsight and irony, the story explores unintended consequences, scientific ethics and humanity’s fragile dependence on synthetic materials in a cautionary tale of innovation gone awry.
Pete, this sounds like such a good story! I love the original idea. (I feel bad for her, though!) I hope you have good luck with it. Have a great week!
Hi Bryn, it’s good to start on a different kind of writing. Best of luck on your new project. Glad you’re excited. I know you’ll do well as you always do.
In this passage I was exploring what it means to be strong.
I sat beside him holding his hand. Everyone else gathered in the living room talking about the signs of imminent death. I wanted to know but couldn’t bear to leave him. So I strained to hear.
All at once everyone in the other room stood and walked toward the bedroom door. They entered quietly and stood around the hospital bed.
The nurse took his vitals. “He’s gone.”
How did they know? I was holding his hand and I didn’t know.
We stayed. I gave the eulogy at his funeral. No tears. It wasn’t a eulogy – not really – more like the truth – the two sides of him. Trying to be honest in my presentation. No tears. Love and pain mixed together. No tears.
We sang.
No tears.
Top floor of the mausoleum. He didn’t want to be buried in the ground.
Strong? No tears.
We must go. Not ready.
Never ready.
Every mile wrenched roots from my heart. Leaving great emptiness.
Quiet tears.
Not for others to see.
Red rock picked up from the side of the road.
He loved red rocks.
Took it home.
A rock is strong.
Weather crumbled the red rock.
Turned it to dust.
Is my heart strong?
Hi Jessie! Ohh…this is so sad and very poetic. I really liked it. Thank you so much for sharing. I hope you have a good week!