Friday, March 7, 2008

Excerpt

Thoughts of him kept her awake like a cricket nestled somewhere under the radiator during the summertime. Days would pass without him entering her thoughts, but in the cover of night he'd be impossible to ignore, crunching and screeching his bow against the strings of the heavy, muffled air. The only difference was that it was the dead of winter, and sounds were carried on and on by the wind, empty and biting.

Still not sure what I want to do about this.

Walking back from the library around 1, I passed the big gazebo and looked over when I heard coughing. There were clouds of white smoke rising from it. Oh, Geneseo.

Excuse me while I go die by way of creative writing critiques.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I wonder if reading your blog makes other people miss you, too. I wonder if I miss you because I feel like I owe you something.