compiled by The San Francisco Writers' Grotto
a storm destroys your uncle's shed and kills his six year old son. the color of the sky right before the storm hit.
The sky was an ominous green. A gut-turning, putrid garbage green. It loomed, still and heavy, about to hurl its wretchedness all over this place. all over all of us. Its pressure weighed down on us, as we battened down the hatches and took cover...
a storm destroys your uncle's shed and kills his six year old son. the color of the sky right before the storm hit.
The sky was an ominous green. A gut-turning, putrid garbage green. It loomed, still and heavy, about to hurl its wretchedness all over this place. all over all of us. Its pressure weighed down on us, as we battened down the hatches and took cover...
No comments:
Post a Comment