I love stories and how they can just creep into someone’s gut.
The wind would blow hard against their shirts and carry with it, a smudge of dust that would settle on top of their…
Manda closed her eyes as she lifted her face towards the sky, feeling the warmth of the tropical breeze illuminate her smooth…
Rickoe. He holds his pen in hand, looking at the sketched lines of rhythm, that have flowed into conception. His hands are all stiff…
He wielded the sledge hammer tightly enough that the sweat pores on his palm began to suffocate and his grip was…
Mr. Omondi, the interrogator on duty, otherwise known as Omosh by his fellow work mates, could feel the cold, hard dew drop on the…