He was tall, solid, heavily tattooed, an image of aggression. Even when he slept, naked, sprawled on the bed, there was a tenseness to him, a readiness to attack at the slightest provocation.
Now he was immobilized by the light touch on his belly. The spider, unaware, was also still.
Jan Owens lives in South Australia, retired from education and nursing and now happily playing with words.
I fell to my knees, drained, ravenous, and blistered. I kissed the car door’s flat surface and nuzzled the chrome handles.
A mere two hours driving time took more than two weeks to hike. The Appalachian Trail had not made a man out of me; it whipped my metrosexual hiney.
Would you do what I did if you knew what I know?
You’d like to think you would. Heck, I’d like to think you would, too. But I know you. I know a lot of things. I doubt you would have followed through.
Sick puppies make messes that scar psyches.