Blythe Rosetta
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Stories (3)
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Route 66
Her hands shocked her the most. Sometimes she was happily going about her daily tasks and caught a glimpse of them - dried parchment, sprinkled with brown spots and river delta veins. Knuckles bulging like marbles in a leather pouch. How could they belong to her? How had she aged so quickly? Her inner self was still 19 , it was only the outer shell that betrayed her passing years.
By Blythe Rosetta5 years ago in Humans
Puppy love
An ear-splitting scream echoed down the empty village street. Ella paused midway to unlocking her car boot and looked, with consternation, in the direction of the sound. A middle-aged woman lay spread-eagled on the ground. Her dyed blonde hair, piled high on top of her botoxed face, was skew-whiffed at a precarious angle; her eyebrows, permanently arched in total surprise, had risen to even greater heights on her heavily made-up face.
By Blythe Rosetta5 years ago in Humans
