Sawyer Scott
Bio
If I never pen great tales, I'll settle for being poetry.
Then in living my own life, I'll be writing my own eulogy.
Stories (3)
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The Accident
On the night of the accident, I wanted to be a chooser. On the night of any accident, even the most willful of souls are swiftly reduced to beggars. As a beggar, I knew that the assistance of an over talkative old farmer was equal to the assistance of any duchess or kingpin. I knew, also, that the tentative warmth of her musty barn and the ease of the hand-me-down quilt she laid out for me were luxuries of rare fortune. What I did not know was who I was or what I had been trying to accomplish in that desolate and hollow hinterland to begin with. I knew I had come from the city, a place of glinting distractions and volatile ambitions, and I had never before been submerged in such a deep and unavoidable silence.
By Sawyer Scott4 years ago in Fiction
