Wind brushed softly over the rusty bridge, picking up leaves as it went, and the sunlight was like thick, golden syrup on the world. She had always wanted to fly, a childish dream that seemed impossible. All her dreams had seemed impossible until now. With the gentle wind running its fingers through her hair, it felt painfully possible. Ahe saw the sparkling water, the floating birds, and heard children laughing beyond the treeline. The world was beautiful, she thought, but she was already halfway down.
About the Creator
S. A. Crawford
Writer, reader, life-long student - being brave and finally taking the plunge by publishing some articles and fiction pieces.
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More stories from S. A. Crawford and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Unbroken
"If walls could talk..." the woman whispered and stroked my pitted, battled scarred side, "what would they say?" She turned her head, red hair flashing in the sunlight, and smiled at her companion. He grunted something and moved on, uninterested, but her smile, sad and weak, stayed with me for days.
By S. A. Crawford3 years ago in Fiction
How to Check the Oil
Oil, in no small measure, is what makes the world go around. It’s the truth of a modern society. It keeps the parts humming, moving smoothly against each other in a rhythm you can catch just before the sound waves leave the bounds of human range.
By Natalie Wilkinson4 days ago in Fiction
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