Teetering onthe Edge, I bi-bid you greetings. It’s the waning of an absolutely gorgeous late afternoon turned early evening, this Tuesday (but now it’s Thursday night! aack! what the heck you been doin’ for 2 days?!). I did not take a walk. Nope. Despite the sales job I gave myself, the admonishments, the reminders of what might be, what if and still…I could not drag myself out of doors to walk. (but I did walk last night. yay!)
But hey! How you doin’?! Ready for this here Six Sentence Story bloghop?? Excellent! Zoe, our hostess bar none, has graciously given us the word of the week. Scratch. Amazing, isn’t it that I’m actually writing this 2 days in advance? Yes, way! (uh, duh, it’s now Thursday night and you’re late, Girlie!)
fingers bloodied, tips shredded like finely grated mozzarella, I crawled through unevenly shaped shards of glass, colored like the sea glass I searched for as a young girl walking salted, shoreline sands, hopeful ocean tides would deliver me the rare, sought after treasure.
eyes focused, as gray as the slate upon which I found myself sprawled, I set my gaze on the small pinhole of daylight in the distance and imagined my escape.
my life depended on scratching and clawing my way out of this once secret, underground chamber, extricating myself from the lichen coated wreckage of the mighty structure before they returned to retrieve the dead.
only one person could orchestrate this kind of mayhem on this scale in this kind of town and no one, not the Almighty himself would dare challenge his intent or motive as this was the outcome he pursued from the beginning.
plant the seed of doubt, of discension and then let loose a tirade of destructive rhetoric, the rest will take care of it themselves as not one individual stood up when it mattered to question why.
roy wasn’t delusional when he described the patriarch of his newly found family…
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