Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?

Story is marked as mature.

Sometimes I imagine being wrapped up tightly and completely by denim or canvas, enveloping me entirely. Bye, baby bunting. And then I would be stored away for a rainy day.


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Comments (1 so far!)

Robert Quick

Robert Quick

In light of the last one and the potential trigger warnings on the tags, perhaps I was wrong. A month late feels like too much but I feel compelled to ask if you're all right. Without the tags, I didn't take this as a sinister piece, even with the second line. I thought of it more like there's a time and place for everything combined with the idea of a bear hibernating or some such. I know that I'm not fully available to my friends and family all the time.

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