Editing is fun ... but so is writing:
It started to snow, so Sam took the long way home from the cemetery. The air smelled of wet wool, and his fingertips were still cold from tracing the letters on the stone.
He curled his fingers into his palm and began to run, exploding a cloud of crows from a thin-branched tree.
When he arrived home, red-faced and heaving for breath, he stopped in the hallway to push off his wet shoes.
"Running again?" Dad said, but it wasn't a question.
Sam worked on his shoe.
"It won't bring her back."
Sam swallowed. "I know it won't. I know." He wiped his hands on his pants and brushed past Dad.
No comments:
Post a Comment