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  • Dory felt like a wet blanket. She’d overdosed on colours in the shawl and cape shop, and had to lie down in the back room. As she waited for the room to stop spinning, sprawled on a rather smelly old sofa that seemed more like a glukenitch bed than a sofa, she listened to various snatches of ... · ID #174 (continued)
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Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories

› Forums › Yurara Fameliki’s Stories › Circle of Eights, Stories › Reply To: Circle of Eights, Stories

February 10, 2008 at 2:50 pm #692
TracyTracy
Participant
    Sanso's Party

    It was a perfect year for mushrooms in the mossy green fields of the Upper Ubzich regions, and gaily coloured clumps of them glistened in the morning dew. The weak sun felt deliciously warm to Zhanochka, after the interminable months of frost and ice. She pushed her sleeves up past her elbows, exposing the milk white flesh that she (or anyone else for that matter) rarely saw, clutched her grimy skirts up above the oozing mud, and ran across the field for no reason at all, other than it felt good to run.

    Zhanochka kept running. And running……something strange happened to Zhanochka that day, the day she ran and ran…..

    It was, in retrospect, as if she had run from one world, into another one, a completely different world, and she was glad.

    Daily Random Quote

    • Dory felt like a wet blanket. She’d overdosed on colours in the shawl and cape shop, and had to lie down in the back room. As she waited for the room to stop spinning, sprawled on a rather smelly old sofa that seemed more like a glukenitch bed than a sofa, she listened to various snatches of ... · ID #174 (continued)
      (next in 14h 44min…)

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