Circling

Circling

There were bows and flaming arrows; whooping, and wailing. Then, someone yelled, “Circle the wagons!” So, I grabbed a stick and drew a circle in the dirt ‘round ‘ol Bessie. (Rather silly of me, looking back). Alas! The cause of our demise was merely a question of semantics.   The Daily Post

In My Room

In My Room

The Daily Post The air is hot, dense, and toxic, I feel my lungs boiling then shriveling. The lace curtains my grandmother made sparkle and flash like fireflies, then disintegrate. A smoldering pillowcase Scorches the bedspread as the flames take over, buckling the door and wrinkling the walls. Everything is screaming.