The swinging door hit my chair so hard that it shoved me into the table I was already pressed too tightly against and my mostly full beer launched a hoppy spout like the snort of a great whale from its mouth with a trajectory for Alice’s face.
Reagan tried to jump out of the way, but it was too late, his grip was solidly around her, and he wrenched her sideways, away from the edge of the street.
You can’t tell a story that isn’t true, even if it’s all a lie, and believe in it when the voice inside tells you otherwise.
Jim didn’t stop to wonder if this was another wind that precedes the disaster he’d anticipated, even as he suited up into his rain slicker and rubber boots, but he should have.
John’s eyes flicked around the bathroom in suspicion. He stomped to the bathtub and ripped the shower curtain aside, hoping he would find the culprit hiding there, but he only found more shampoo bottles staring up at him from the corner of the tub.
The little beast sensed my movement. I froze. His eyes didn’t blink and I wondered just how long he could go without doing so. A tickle of sweat ran down my temple and I realized for the first time I was actually not just a little bit scared but more or less frightened out of my mind.
The holidays have rushed in like an icy draft from the door she left open in the warm, cozy house of summer, sending me scrambling to escape the cold.