It's not just a music on it's own...

Cherry

Waiting To Be Made

Speed prose that I hope to make into something...

A First

I've burnt myself, I think Sparks flew, landed on My breast, a fingertip, The little bony left wrist I've allowed too much wine into the house.

Accidents

Hatty does not even look up. When her mother curses or swears, her words rip out of her and her voice sounds like a tornado. Hatty doesn't care much for that voice, and pretends she hasn't heard. Once, after the tornado, June had grabbed Hatty and Bea by the hair, and smashed their heads together.

Coming

Speed prose

The Musician

First draft of a new short story