Okay. So if poetry (or MY poetry) isn’t your thing…

Maybe you want to check out some fiction at A Writer’s Pages Annex …  Here’s a sample:

Mickey eventually grabbed my strap again and whispered, “Come on.” But I didn’t want to go with him – I knew he was going in – and yet I was so fascinated I couldn’t not go. He pulled my satchel from my shoulder and laid it in the grass by the road. His great criminal mind must have instinctively known that a book satchel would make us appear suspicious, as though we didn’t belong – which we didn’t – as though we had just taken a detour after school to intrude here – which we had. He grabbed me by the wrist and forged ahead. Somehow I knew I was someplace that neither Rose nor Mama would approve of me being, but the knowledge that such a place was so close to my normal routes in life intrigued me all the more (I only later realized that it wasn’t the place that was to be avoided, but the event).

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