“Can’t ya see the line’s moving?” I yell impatiently at the man before me. “I can’t,” he turns, his eyes invisible behind dark glasses.
“Your paper is a train wreck that even Jesus cannot save. I am unable to look away and must cry myself to sleep.” Teaching was a mistake.
The first wave of attacks only maimed the humans. Further research determined the best way to a man’s heart was through his rib cage.
Alcohol bottles on the floor. Father mumbles incoherently. I storm out crying. The liquor store is close. It tastes good, warm with hope.
The angry gray storm wanted little Jesse. An oak tree by the shed was an ideal bat. A 90 mph gust did the trick. Job done, it moved on.
She’s on the school bus. She crouches low in back. The driver doesn’t see her. She’ll stay here all night. It’s warmer than at home.