. . . and blew right through the deadline on my first writing prompt, which was the whole reason I started this “blog” in the first place.
Here’s the prompt:
. . . which I just realized has the filename “wavangel3” and my story is about. . . not angels. OOPS AGAIN.
Here’s the link back:
. . . and here’s the story.
. . .
It was one of those things where, as soon as she finished the drawing of a bird, the bird would fly off the page, shedding feathers all over the carpet which drove her mother crazy even though the carpet was already the literal color of newspaper left out in the rain for days. The animals always escaped, the small mammals and lizards clawing and biting her on their way to die in the walls, the cats hissing and leaping out of her arms, the dogs ferocious and fast and terrified. Once in school a dimunitive horse leapt from the margin of America: Pageant of Promise and ran under the classroom door before she could catch it; the next Monday it turned up full-size and frantic in the boy’s locker room, whinnying and stamping as it turned in anxious hungry circles. It was a slender cream-colored gelding with a lovely grey and brown pattern on its flanks where someone had spilled cocoa on the page.