Mist shrouded peaks hide
cavernous depths wherein one
becomes lost or found.
About the Creator
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More stories from Danielle L Turner and writers in Poets and other communities.
Origins
I come from preschool in the basement of a church that now exists only in fond memories. From days spent in the snow that always melted into nights of gooey marshmallow hot chocolate, tangled in blankets in front of gas fireplaces. From bedroom doors left open after being tucked in tight to fall asleep in the comfort of the light that trickled down the hall from the living room. From running jumps into piles of leaves raked at least a mile high on orange and red and yellow days. From shakily taking the training wheels off my bike on a dead-end street that seemed only to go downhill.
By Danielle L Turner4 years ago in Poets
Bacon
Satan, laughing, spreads his wings. He launches into an atmosphere riddled with smoke, soot, and ash. He feels the radiation from a thousand fallen nukes. For humanity, it’s certain death. For him, it’s like bathing in a sauna. He laughs again at the thought.
By C. Rommial Butler2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
I really like this. Thanks for writing it.