I cared what she thought, so when she dared me, I knew I was in trouble. I turned to her with my objection poised and ready, but there she sat, stiff, silent, disapproving. Her ever more toothy sneer taunted. Her eyes threatened retribution. I never could ignore a dare.

“All right, then.” I snapped, resigned to the fate she had conjured for me.

I knew it to be precisely 230 metres, including three fences, from the house to the general store — as the crow once might have flown. I have never seen a crow. …

Neil Dixon

Write to feel — draw to see — code to eat.

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