A Taste of A Story


In my last post I said that I was going to return to working on a story that I had started before I came out. What follows is a possible opening.

She walked down the snow covered sidewalk, the steady crunch of her footsteps loud in the still air. Snow was still falling; white flakes against a lead grey sky. She glanced at the houses she passed, noting the lit windows and wondering if anyone would think to look out and see her passing by? Maybe she was nothing more than a ghost and there was nothing for them to see. She came to the corner and turned left to walk up the rise that led the bridge over a little creek. She stopped to stare into the black water passing below. Her eyes drifted along with the sluggish current until the waterway swung right and disappeared behind a stand of trees.

Between her and the trees lies a long expanse of unbroken snow glistening in the subdued light. It reminded her of a bed covered in a clean white comforter, not even a leaf marring its pristine surface. She remembers hearing of people who died in the snow. They simply went to sleep and never woke up again. She could do that.

She turned eleven today.

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