You were holding my breath. Yes, that might make sense. The last I heard he turned to her. She said you preferred the salt-colored one. No risk. You let go. No change.
Posted by: corisa | November 3, 2008
You were holding my breath.
Posted in Drama | Tags: 32 word short story, flash fiction, holding breath, no risk, prose poetry, what makes sense, Writing
That’s called strangulation. Whatever your faults were, that probably wasn’t an option, unless you wanted it that way. Risk is reciprocal. Pepper’s underrated these days, and is held with a slaver’s grip.
By: zxvasdf on November 3, 2008
at 5:25 pm
LOL. I’m always missing something in my own stories.
By: corisa on November 3, 2008
at 7:33 pm