Here is the first part of the story of Hurricane Frank, which grows and shrinks and becomes more and less done the more I pick at it.
Want to read more? There's plenty. Let me know.
Everything on these pages is drummey born and raised.
Pinky and Beau
Pinky had just opened her mouth for the tenth time during the meeting on Skin Pocket's Green. She is about to whisper to Beau, as he bends over the doll, cleaning it, attending to it with such intense concentration, she is just about to do it, just about to say that she needs to take time for herself, needs to stop worrying so much that maybe they didn't look as great as they did say, three years ago when they joined the H and H, or maybe even a year ago, and her lips are pressing together to make the B in Beau, when she suddenly feels a great tugging from above, and the last thing she sees is Beau, and in that instant, because she is happy that he is the last thing she sees, she feels a great relief, for she knows that all of the time before and after this moment that they are together stretches into infinity and is/was/will be not wasted.