Cheers into his ears,
silencing all the jeers,
one scowl couldn’t last,
he rose to his feet quick fast,
gesturing on his way out.
About the Creator
James Green
Weaving words into captivating worlds, this author's storytelling will transport you to realms of imagination and leave you breathless.
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Field of the Fallen
Sunlight danced softly across the frost-crusted fields, making the little blades of grass sparkle like emeralds. The faraway chirrup of a songbird was the only disruption to the quiet of the morning. An icy chill, the last vestige of the dying winter, clung to the air, settling in a thick white mist at the far side of the open field. The heavy stench of decay hung in that mist, punctuation by the sharp tang of freshly spilled blood.
By A. J. Schoenfeld7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
I love this! It makes me think of the "death glare coming from an INTJ." Haha!