Vanda dragged Wilom by the hand, a little faster than probably necessary. Wilom had to jog to keep up, feeling the blood pulsing in his fingertips from her grip. Continue reading “Mistakes”
Mirror, Mirror
Wilom would have known the kid’s type anywhere. He sat on the beach, arms crossed and resting on his folded legs, leaning back against the cliff face. Continue reading “Mirror, Mirror”
Whimsy and Metaphor 