Pitch wiped the honey off his hands with a dirty rag and gazed around Hell. He sighed. Was his shift over yet?
One day I noticed I’d stopped breathing. No gasping or choking or anything like that. I tried taking a deep breath; I mean you have to breathe don’t you? But it felt kinda wrong so I never bothered doing it again.
Like a small flower that blooms between the cracks of a prison floor, my blossoming came in the most unlikely of places.
“My, my, what have we here,” Alice exclaimed, squinting at it.
One Hell of a Woman / The Photographer
The sun’s rays tangoed over a luminous sea to create a palate of aqua-greens by day and deep cobalt blue at dusk. White, bubbly froth settled on the sandy shore, tickling Rory Mullins’s toes like the head on a Guinness tickled his lips.