My skis skid on fresh powder and wind breaks my face. A presence pursues.
“Apparitions collect the unwary,” I had warned. The enthusiast didn’t believe what his camera couldn’t snare.
I chase speed to the bottom. Totem markers constrain Dame’ Wit — sucker of souls.
Mouthless, she demands, “More. Bring.”
writing, traveling, and tap dancing around town.
Made on Mars.
The place where all the things I write live
Writer and procrastinator
authors inspirations
Warden of Words // Shaper of Stories
Bewitching Journey of Words to Meaning
This is the story of building a cottage , the people and the place. Its a reminder of hope and love.
The 24 hour Writing Hotspot and Hang Out
Just your average PhD student using the internet to enhance their CV
Oooh, creepy! I especially like the last line.
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I like that this story is set outside. I always think of ghosts in graveyards and dark rooms.
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The last line was so good, but so was Dame’ Wit!
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