It seemed like a simple enough conversation. Jack scrolled through the early texts again, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. He glanced up at the screen displaying their- his website and dutifully ignored the Skype messages that were flooding in from five different humans.
The Trouble with Books by Chrissie Kline She slipped further into her chair under the weight of his haughty gaze. Perfectly manicured hands trembled as they hid twisted together between locked knees. His hot-dogs-for-fingers drummed the aluminum table, making the walls responded in that eerie way empty rooms do. “Well?” His voice brought
Flushed face pounds with the crowd,
A drum, tambourine, rhythmic beat to match the feat…
The proof is in the picture.
All my childhood I would awaken in the dead of night to the soft slapping of bare feet on hardwood floors, quiet muttering mingling with the thin thread of light resting under my closed door. She always said I could hear a mouse running through the kitchen of the next house over – and on nights when the demon Insomnia decided on a sleepover party, I would actually try to hear it.