The following is my post for this week’s Weekly Writing Challenge, which you can find here. The one rule: Fifty words. Take it away, me.
It’s those dead eyes that get me.
Her stuff is everywhere, and it’s free. Wildly festooned scenarios all. Someone put time and work into these. No one works harder than her.
But every time I see her, I see those lifeless, empty eyes. I don’t know how she does it.
Weekly Writing Challenge: Fifty
“No rules. Just stick to the word count-no more, no less than fifty words.”
Here is my entry.
Third-wave
Rosamund was born disliking two things: being ordered about, and the baffling human impulse to join social clubs. At five, she was horrified to discover that girls were expected to politely comply with those very requests. She thought, “To hell with that!”, and screamed so long that her throat soured.
A Small Press Life: Books. Art. Writing. Life. Tea. 