Brianne Bohman

The Power of the Written Word

It was golden hour and Nora was getting restless. She blew a strand of her not quite straight, not quite curly honey colored hair out of her eyes as she sunk into the plushy love seat in the guest room at her grandmother’s house. The shadows of the paned windows made squares of orange light on her white hoodie. At least it was white at some point, now it was dull grey with faded doodles Nora had drawn with various types of pens when she was bored. It was her favorite. She wore blue jeans with one knee poking out with a sharpie drawn smiley face. She looked over at Lilly, who was perfectly content sitting on the four poster bed with a book.