Ashana Wicks
Joined October 2021
2 stories
Stories (2)
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Aunt Helena’s Owl
We came running up the path to the front door, under the grand old veranda. Uncle Mac’s light blue station wagon was parked haphazardly on the street out the front. I was first up the path, as the eldest and for the time being, still the fastest. I could see my footprints in the snow behind me, marking my path with regular little ovals at irregular intervals. There was moisture in my hair, both from excitement and the sprinkle of rain that you could feel but not see. Jerry ran up behind me, his wispy hair catching the glare. The orange tinge not too unlike my own that I’d grow to hate, and then love again.
By Ashana Wicks4 years ago in Fiction
