I’m really not a fan of bugs crawling on me. They’re not the worst things in the world (those are spiders) but I love moths. They’re even cute in their horrible insectoid face. They’re just really pretty looking!
Title: Gossamer Wings
Genre: Realistic Fiction
Word Count: 100
I locked my husband into his room. It’s a strong door, my nightmares won’t be following me from that dungeon of invisible bloodstains.
So I took a sledgehammer into the garage. I raised it like Mjolnir and brought the thunder down. A 1926 Hearse, a piece of automotive history, turned into a child’s crafts project at the drop of a hammer. And that was the least of what I did.
I’m walking away, far away now, angelic gossamer wings only visible to me catching the light.
I am owned by nobody. Please direct your comments and suggestions up your tailpipe.
You know what I need to do? I need to write more stories featuring mentally unstable folks? I wrote a few stories like that a while back that I’m not going to go tracking down and linking now. They’ll just have to remain a mystery forever. But writing people with huge egos or no sense of reality was fun.
Kindred spirits, I guess.
Good luck, you brave writer folk!