Storygram #108
The fog was beautiful to her—a sheet of white silk draped over the land to soothe it to sleep. She understood why some people didn’t like it, though. It conceals and creates an unknown. Everyone is afraid of the unknown.
Storygram #107
The bell tower chimed for its midday fill of admiration from the busy streets below. Everyone stopped in their tracks to gaze at it, as was their custom. But the tower was rarely the subject of their murmurs.
Storygram #106
I stand under the only solar powered light that hasn’t died yet. My rendezvous with Perry always occurs at this spot but at random times and intervals. Otherwise, taker scouts might follow us.
Storygram #105
The living room was lit only by the faint glow of a TV. He was sound asleep on the couch, where his exhaustion had triumphed over his will to get in bed, as it did every night. It wasn’t until the TV went to silent static that he awoke.
Storygram #104
He fumbled with the keys on his keychain, trying to function without having had his morning coffee yet. When the correct key presented itself, he pushed it into the lock and felt the tumblers give way to its force.
Storygram #103
The sounds of the city streets were the only things keeping him awake. The constant revving of the cars, the yelling vendors, the construction hammers—he needed all of them after his early morning job, a full day of classes, and this job, which wouldn’t be over until nine o’clock.