Pete held the bundle of white cloth and in it, the rifle.
My eldest daughter lives in St. Mary’s Hospital psychiatric ward.
His ears buzzed—sound was returning to him.
As I write this passage in late September, there has been an unprecedented heatwave in Montreal for the last ten days.
After ten months of writing it was done. My first novella. I read through it twice, and thought it was pretty good.
When I was in seventh grade, I was introduced to The Beatles on a rainy day.
I see how they look at each other when they think I am not watching.