Writing is my passion, and I've been storytelling for over five years.
CHAPTER 1 There weren't always dragons in the Valley. They came between the second and third quarter of the hour. Between a bowl of soup and the sound of my mothers voice on the front porch. Amari was sitting at our table and I was looking at him. I remember how the morning light painted his skin gold. His hand crept into the bread basket, and his smirk followed. Between one mouthful and the next the floor pitched forward. The silverware upturned. My fathers favorite mug hit the floor. The ground rushed up to smack our faces.
By Rina P.4 years ago in Fiction
