In the pale wash of the cracked window, his clipped hair shone almost white. He’d changed since he and Lonan had been bathed together and scolded together—he was built like a swordswoman’s son now. His mother’s spitting image.
Shay crouched down next to the small fire, mesmerized by feeding wood inside and watching it be eaten at. He showed no sign of moving.
Halloween is on its way, and let me tell you: there is nothing spookier than the AI-generated chapter of Harry Potter.
I admitted to the leader of a prose-writing workshop my worst fear was being misunderstood. He misunderstood what I meant.
It's anonymous, it's cathartic, and on paper it's fairly humorous. Give it a try! Be salty before you're angry.