Chills Continue reading
Sometimes, you just have to chase a plot bunny. Here’s where today’s has been leading me:
Dan bent his stiff fingers around the ice covered sapling. He groaned as he squatted to lower himself down the muddy slope. His knee popped and he grunted, momentarily pausing while he lowered himself. The sapling bent and ice crackled. Dan’s foot slipped. He strained, pulling harder against the sapling. It snapped, sending him head first down the hill. Continue reading
He waits, coiled, ready to strike. Continue reading
So it was late (or maybe early) and I’d finally gotten abed.
A noise rose outside that I thought might be in my head.
I stood from my bed and looked out below.
The yard once again is covered in snow.
I saw something move on a once-grassy slope.
Wouldn’t you know it? A sleigh drawn by jackalope.
A heard a faint cry and thought, ‘Oh how funny.
If he went down the chimney, we’ll have roast Easter Bunny.’
I guess that he didn’t, ’cause when I went down the stairs.
I found lots of stowed eggs, and candy, and bunny hairs.
I peeked back outside. The jackalopes were gone.
Instead where they were, there were tracks on my lawn.
I wrote this poem in the (very) early hours of Easter, as I waited for the appearance of the aforementioned Bunny. This is what happens when I have coffee too late in the day.