Last week’s challenge: “Stock Photo What-The-Palooza.”
(Once more, sorry this challenge is up late — vacation last week with poor Internet access had me unable to post the damn thing properly. But here it is! Don’t throw things!)
This week’s challenge is:
Write a story in 100 words. (Technical term: “drabble.”)
I don’t care what genre.
I want it to be a complete story. Beginning, middle, and end.
Not just a vignette — not just a snapshot of a scene.
And I want you to write with the explicit goal of making us feel something.
Joy, pain, fear, sorrow. Something. Some emotion.
In 100 words only.
You can write it at your blog, link back here — or, because the stories are short enough, feel free to write them write into the comment section below. (But do check your length. Again, stories of no more than 100 words.)
Crack the whip, word-herders.
Mikey Campling (@mikeycampling) says:
Here you go my beauties. 100 word story + 1 word title. Hope you enjoy it:
Rats
At night they slip from beneath the wardrobe; creep between his sheets. Paralysed, he feels claws pierce his pyjama trousers along his thigh, towards his crotch. Attracted by warmth and scent.
His own scream wakes him. Groaning, he pushes away the sweat-soaked sheets and stumbles towards the bathroom. Too late for sleep now. Shower, breakfast and in to work. The security guard asks after his health. The strain must show.
At his workstation he checks the schedule then dons protective gloves. Skin tests. His subjects often struggle whilst being shaved.
The samples are ready. Today he will be testing anti-perspirant.
May 26, 2014 — 3:50 PM
Albert C. Doyle Jr. says:
My sister just alerted me to this site today. Fun stuff: Here are exactly 100 words:
Oroblanco turned the corner. I recognized him, hailed him. We had been friends. Once. Behind him a string of goats bleated, and several porters. He signaled at one, who brought us mescal. Two others he bade kneel behind us, as seats. We drank.
“What’s in the chests?”, I asked.
“Weapons”, he replied. “I will trade them to El Murcielago for a wife”.
“Why did you leave Orange County?” This was where I had last seen him. He had been an investment banker.
“The brides were too expensive.”
“And what are the goats for?”
“My new wife. She will want something.”
May 26, 2014 — 4:20 PM
Scott A. Bullard (@writingbull) says:
Here’s my try at: http://scottabullard.tumblr.com/post/86930835349/principle-of-moments?utm_campaign=SharedPost&utm_medium=Email&utm_source=TumblriOS
May 26, 2014 — 4:59 PM
stephenseibert says:
http://stephenseibert.wordpress.com/2014/05/26/100-word-bathroom-at-midnight/
May 26, 2014 — 5:20 PM
Claire Fuller says:
Here’s mine:
‘They questioned everyone who had been by the river that day,’ said Hedda. ‘All the picnickers, the dog walkers. It was hours too late, of course. But people remembered her; she was very striking, my mother.’
‘And?’ said Richard.
‘No one saw where she went. One moment she was there, the next gone.’ Hedda shrugged, resigned, no longer tormented.
‘Really, nothing?’
‘Well, perhaps one thing. In the morning Dad went back to the river and waded to the far bank. He found footprints, in the mud. The right size.’
Richard raised his eyebrows.
‘The toes pointed away from the water.’
May 26, 2014 — 5:23 PM
jenniferw19 says:
She wails. Howling like a banshee caught in a blender. She hits the forest floor, crunching leaves under her fingers as if that will make her body stop betraying her.
Her legs stretch out and bend in impossible ways.
They warned her. As soon as they saw the wolf bite, they told her it wouldn’t be like the movies made out. Then kicked her out and told her to stay far away from the town.
She hears their words as her vision blurs and her mind changes, no longer her own.
There is only one change.
You aren’t coming back.
Link to the story in blog entry too! http://wp.me/s3AlHa-change
May 26, 2014 — 5:28 PM
epbeaumont says:
The last two lines feel like a body-blow. Not only the content, but the way the rhythm drives it home.
May 30, 2014 — 1:35 AM
winterchild11 says:
If one can have a soulmate that’s an animal then Houdini is mine, but he’s dying.
A friend who lost her special girl would whisper, “come back to me.” Soon after, a small kitten adopted her. She noticed he displayed many traits that had been unique to Pia.
I whisper to Houdini, “come back to me,” praying that death won’t be the end. Hoping I’ll come across another creature that tilts it’s head in a special way. Maybe I’ll sense Houdini when I look into it’s eyes and know that he didn’t leave me forever, That I’m not alone.
May 26, 2014 — 5:46 PM
Catastrophe Jones says:
Recently lost my best beloved, a shelter-cat who was with me for ten too-short years. He was the love of my life. Reading this made me cry in the office.
May 27, 2014 — 2:58 PM
epbeaumont says:
Wow, OK, emotion. *sniffle*
May 30, 2014 — 1:36 AM
Laura W. says:
Here’s my attempt, 100 words exactly:
Mrs. McMurtry sat on the porch swing, crocheting her daughter-in-law one of her famous lacy throws. In with the hook, out with the hook. The couple across the way was arguing again, the woman’s voice shrill. Mrs. McMurty’s ears pricked, catching stray words. “…trust you…her…why…used to…love…”
“Don’t…selfish…tired of it…”
Her hook flickered, the rhythm increasing as the angry voices crescendoed. Then the woman screamed. “Help!”
Mrs. McMurtry paused, hook frozen, the throw forgotten.
The screams stopped.
Mrs. McMurtry settled back. A breath rushed into her lungs. Almost mindlessly, her hands began again: in with the hook, out with the hook.
May 26, 2014 — 7:00 PM
AE Smith says:
Chilling.
May 29, 2014 — 4:32 AM
epbeaumont says:
The bystander, or maybe there wasn’t enough time to act — anyway, read it several times. Still shocking.
May 30, 2014 — 1:37 AM
Russell Appelt says:
Anniversary
I told Laura I’d be back soon. Needed to pick something up for our anniversary.
The sauce I’d prepared simmered on the stove. She’d sample it, for sure. One taste of the peanut laced sauce and voila, anaphylaxis de jour.
Carrying Laura’s epinephrine injector I strolled to the barn. When my foot broke through a sheet of ice my ankle snapped like a pencil.
I crawled home. With fingers too frozen to knock I watched the cat licking sauce from the pan it had knocked to the floor.
Now I’m freezing to death. Fuck I hate that cat!
May 26, 2014 — 9:53 PM
epbeaumont says:
whoa. just whoa. Yet another nefarious plan foiled by Kitteh.
May 30, 2014 — 1:39 AM
RenataB says:
When he laid eyes upon his son, he almost didn’t recognize him. He looked so young. His face carried a mischievous to it even in sleep. Today was going to be a long one that much he knew, but it didn’t matter. He had nothing more to do that day or ever really. He was laid off a month ago from the factory. It’s just as well. The emphysema was going to kill him off soon enough. He looked at his son once more. At the face that carried a mischievous to it even in death, and kissed him good-bye.
May 27, 2014 — 7:58 AM
epbeaumont says:
Whiplash – I thought I knew what the tragedy was, and then another one shows up…
May 30, 2014 — 1:41 AM
physicsjenn says:
Done. I knew immediately what I wanted to write in order to channel some unproductive energy: http://jennwritesstories.wordpress.com/2014/05/27/terribleminds-flash-fic-challenge-sydney/
May 27, 2014 — 10:11 AM
Catastrophe Jones says:
Aaaagh. Tears. Oh, Sydney.
May 27, 2014 — 2:55 PM
physicsjenn says:
Yeah, I cried while writing it. Also, for those who don’t click the link, Sydney is a tubby Corgi.
May 27, 2014 — 3:05 PM
epbeaumont says:
Animal POV is incredibly eloquent – all sensory information. We fill in the blanks.
May 30, 2014 — 1:40 AM
physicsjenn says:
Thanks!
May 30, 2014 — 8:45 AM
Leslie says:
She was alone in the house. An eight year old girl left to fend for herself after her family was killed by… what? Monsters? Real ones though, not bad people. Shaped like humans, but covered in metallic scales. Amethyst eyes and drooling mouths, but no noses. They couldn’t smell her. They saw the cooler she’d hidden in and they just threw it out of their way. She was bruised, bleeding but alive. She had no time to mourn. They were still out there. Not knowing where her instincts came from she slipped out the back door to find other survivors.
May 27, 2014 — 12:40 PM
epbeaumont says:
An entire ordeal packed into this little paragraph. Dang. Now I want the next chapter. 🙂
May 30, 2014 — 1:42 AM
Barrett Blake says:
As she laid lifeless on the gurney, he regretted his failed attempt at being a passive husband.
As the news of her empty grave traveled, he grew anxious of her impossible supernatural promises.
As he walked the thin line between sleep and deep thought, the outside noises jarred his mind.
An open door and thirty feet are all that separated her from the target.
Twenty feet.
Ten feet.
As she slammed the hammer on his resting head, she fulfilled her promise.
Even death couldn’t contain her smile as she headed to the grave for some much needed sleep.
May 27, 2014 — 3:26 PM
epbeaumont says:
A snore that can disturb the dead. I am not sure if this is horror or happy ending. 🙂
May 30, 2014 — 1:44 AM
Mark Baron says:
My entry, a bit belated – hope it pleases. Or, you know, whatever emotion it evokes… http://wp.me/p4AFse-5n
May 27, 2014 — 4:18 PM
epbeaumont says:
Not only a full story but two viewpoints. Hot DAMN.
May 30, 2014 — 1:33 AM
curleyqueue says:
She never liked restaurant pickles.
Come to think of it, she hadn’t enjoyed many types of food from eateries, had preferred Cecily’s cooking right from the beginning, from the time she’d stopped relying on Mother Nature’s most perfect liquid sustenance, really. That early interest was one of the things Cecily remembered most clearly and most fondly, and thinking about the little noises she’d made when sampling something new made Cecily smile, even as her cheeks grew wet.
The thoughts in Cecily’s mind, she often wished would stay, but sometimes it was too hard to know what her darling never did.
May 27, 2014 — 5:10 PM
epbeaumont says:
If I’m reading this right, a mom with even more of the usual Psychic Parent Powers.
May 30, 2014 — 2:29 PM
MetalKween says:
The girl wiped the blood from her wrist and pressed the cut with a towel, shaking, hoping to stop the bleeding. She cut deep but not deep enough and was glad she missed the vein or artery or whatever it was she was trying to get to. Jonathan did not love her anymore, neither did anyone else.
Mom opened the door and in seconds, and in hysterics, managed to drag her daughter to the car and to the emergency room.
The girl did not want to die and repeated “I’m sorry” and meant it. She would have her revenge soon.
May 27, 2014 — 5:37 PM
epbeaumont says:
Hard-driving plot line that already has me wondering about the aftermath.
May 30, 2014 — 2:30 PM
MetalKween says:
Thank you! It reads a bit terse but since I’m a newbie and English is my second language I’m still working on that… 🙂
June 2, 2014 — 9:48 AM
menomama3 says:
Throwing mine on the pyre.http://wutherornot.wordpress.com/2014/05/27/afterglow/
May 27, 2014 — 5:46 PM
epbeaumont says:
Hot, but not in the usual sense … more the oppressive weight of a weeks-long heatwave.
May 30, 2014 — 2:52 PM
next2april says:
Amid the crowd, their eyes lock. He grins and makes his way toward her as she struggles to identify his stare. His eyes remain on her worried face as he shoulders his way through the throng.
“You don’t remember, do you?”
“No.”
“Close your eyes and think.”
The memory she conjures is a dream, where she ran from an unfamiliar house before knowing the reason for her presence there. The fear was non-specific and unjustified, but still her heart races.
Leaning forward, his mouth on her ear, her breath on hold, he whispers.
Come back. It was not a dream.
May 27, 2014 — 6:46 PM
William Grit says:
http://williamgrit.com/2014/05/28/karate-class-2/
May 27, 2014 — 8:41 PM
Erin says:
“Do you think you’ll remember me?” she asks me. Her fingertips play a melody across my collarbone. A solo, of course.
“Do you want me to?” I ask her, and touch her neck, just below her ear. Heart flutters, fragile and soft and warm, beneath a deceptive curve. I love it.
Her teeth are white and straight, an orthodontist’s daughter; at least, they are until the blood flows from my wrist, where she’s bitten deep.
“You’ll remember that,” she says, and the blood drips in drops from her smile, to slide down her chin.
“Yes,” I tell her, “I will.”
May 27, 2014 — 11:21 PM
AE Smith says:
I really liked this! Particularly the musical imagery in the first paragraph. Made me want to read more- am I correct in presuming vampires?
May 29, 2014 — 6:36 AM
Rebecca Douglass says:
I hit exactly 100 words after I’d done a quick edit (without looking at the count). So I stopped.
The mountain was their god, the one thing on or about the Island that was always there. And then, one day, it wasn’t. After that, there wasn’t much to do but survive, for the few people left. Most of the island’s people were gone, buried under the rubble and the lava.
Those who were left worked and struggled and ate everything that wasn’t stone, and they survived. But they did not pray to the mountain-god that had turned on them. Gradually, they rebuilt their world with neither mountain nor god.
When the rescuers finally came, the survivors refused to go.
May 27, 2014 — 11:39 PM
physicsjenn says:
Oh, I like this one. The story it tells is compelling without relying on a twist.
May 30, 2014 — 8:48 AM
Jemima Pett says:
I like it – but it seems to have huge potential for a new big story 🙂
May 30, 2014 — 12:59 PM
epbeaumont says:
An entire folk epic in 100 words. *envy*
May 30, 2014 — 2:31 PM
Rebecca Douglass says:
Thanks for all the kind words! Jemima: must. Not. Start. New. Project!
May 30, 2014 — 8:54 PM
Marcus Coleman says:
I managed to get it to 100 words even, after cutting out a couple.
They didn’t understand.
That was all Adam could say for certain. The past years had been a living hell for him, a world of pain all caused by their ignorance. Her ignorance.
Depression. Social anxiety. They didn’t know what it was like. In everything they said, they knew he wasn’t happy and they wanted to make it better, but they only ever made it worse. They could never understand. They would never understand.
Adam recalled the last thing he’d heard her say, just yesterday. That memory was all he needed to push him over the edge.
He pulled the trigger.
May 28, 2014 — 1:24 AM
Cody Rock says:
Here is mine a couple days early. http://contradictionparadox.blogspot.com/
May 28, 2014 — 10:34 AM
Paul B says:
Bit late – two drafts, so I expect it’s not perfect. 95 words.
The Gambler
Charlie was a man who would do most things, so long as you paid him enough money.
It took him two minutes to fit the explosive. Now he sat across the street watching the small house, waiting for the gambler to get in his car, turn the key, and that would be that.
What he didn’t expect was the gambler to lend the car to his sister, so she could take her young daughter to day care.
Charlie watched. When it was done, he ran. The sound of the blast followed him through the neighborhood.
May 28, 2014 — 11:53 AM
epbeaumont says:
The kind of twist that hits and then sticks. Damn. Gambled and lost.
May 30, 2014 — 2:54 PM
Two Bars of Pressed Latinum For Master Quark says:
Dauphin frowned. “Far as The Man concerned, only difference between ‘falling asleep’ and ‘passing out’ be the color of your skin”
.
Villeroi’s eyes narrowed. “Yet here we are. And they got Sarah.”
Dauphin nodded. “Alright then, let’s to it.”
They all arose, and shouldered their iron.
Oneilla came to the kitchen door. “Y’all be careful. And bring my baby back.” She cast a soft gaze at Nehemiah. “Botha my babies,” she added.
Nehemiah smiled back at her gently. “Don’t worry Mama. We’ll be back. Sooner than you know.”
They stepped outside. Sirens screamed in the distance. The rain was relentless.
May 28, 2014 — 12:05 PM
epbeaumont says:
I want the next chapter!
May 30, 2014 — 2:53 PM
Canby says:
Break a leg. Break it the day before your AP test, and you’ll be in the same boat I was in. It was the last day of school, and I was making up the test in a room by myself. I had thought I would miss an assembly, at least.
But figures. The school had a blackout.
Assembly?
Canceled.
Everyone was enjoying an extended lunch instead.
—
The bell rang. School was out. Feet pounded, people hollered—seniors running past, I imagined.
I wasn’t going to get to say goodbye.
They were moving on, and I was still here.
May 28, 2014 — 12:32 PM
Dario006 says:
A Soul
———
She looked upon her sleeping husband, the dagger natural in her hand. For ten years they had bliss. At midnight the deal would end. She would return to her true form, and the mortal’s soul be claimed. Agreeing was easy. Love was thought beyond the reach of her kind.
She raised the dagger. Looking on his beautiful face she felt ten years of memories burn through her heart, ten years of love only a mortal soul could feel. As the realisation hit she smiled. The Darkness had made a mistake.
“Live well my love.” She whispered, and pierced her heart.
—
Link to the story on blog too: http://dariosbar.co.uk/100-word-story/
May 28, 2014 — 1:14 PM
Amber Roberts says:
100 words, starring my favorite cat
http://wellfrockedlass.wordpress.com/2014/05/28/100-words/
May 28, 2014 — 1:41 PM
Ryan James Black says:
100 words
“Clean or dirty?” she asked, pointing at something he couldn’t see from where he lay in bed.
“Black ones?” he guessed.
She grunted.
“Clean.”
She bent over.
“Ish,” he added.
And these?” she came up holding a pair of boxer shorts by the tip of a finger.
“Dirty,” he mumbled, hastily adding. “Worn I mean, not crapped in.”
“Mm-hmm,”
She gathered up the dirty clothes and tromped off for the laundry room.
Bored, he spared a glance out the armor reinforced bedroom porthole.
Outside, a demon smiled at him, beckoning with a fanged finger.
Beyond it, the scorched Earth burned.
May 28, 2014 — 2:05 PM
curleyqueue says:
Kinda liked the weird juxtaposition of mundane to apocalyptic here- and didn’t see it coming either!
May 28, 2014 — 5:17 PM
epbeaumont says:
Laundry Run of the Apocalypse. Yeah. We definitely need more domestic scenes from the end of the world. 🙂
May 30, 2014 — 2:41 PM
Sheryl says:
The tomb doors were open. Elyan was here. Gripping his ceremonial sword in front of him, he prepared.
“It is time, Jon Quinn. You’re usefulness is up.” Her sibilant voice slid over the marble. “I see you are ready.”
Quinn’s hands shook, “I know bright one. “
His aged voice faltered as he undid his kimono.
“You served us well, this lifetime.” She curled her emerald body around him, cuddling his human one to hers; his sword ending this life.
His body slumped over, a sparkling tear fell, to land upon him.
“Now Jon Quinn, you rise to serve again!”
May 28, 2014 — 6:37 PM
Mark Baron says:
Pure awesome. I love it!
June 16, 2014 — 1:13 PM
Lonna Jo says:
Hope not too late… http://wp.me/p30bDh-Xu
May 28, 2014 — 7:31 PM
C. E. Coburn says:
Good prompt!
http://februaryst.wordpress.com/2014/05/29/206/#more-206
May 29, 2014 — 1:57 AM
AE Smith says:
100 words:
They say your life flashes before your eyes. I see my mother’s face. Skinned knees in the yard. First day of school. Clumsy kisses with someone at camp. Graduation. Basic training. Lashes at the whipping post for tardiness, for talking back. The barracks where we met. First mission off-world. Strange lands, strange air. Your strangeness. The glass of the red planet’s cathedral falling like water from a broken dam. Its citizens cries when we ripped their children from them. You and me, hiding. The court martial. Your hand in mine as we stand against the wall. A flash; then darkness.
(Permalink: http://gigantocellularis.tumblr.com/post/87183224447/flash-fiction-instance)
May 29, 2014 — 3:37 AM
angelacavanaugh says:
Nice. That’s a whole lot of story in a few words.
May 29, 2014 — 5:47 AM
Catastrophe Jones says:
Brilliant. These few words make me want a whole book to back it up. Nicely done.
May 29, 2014 — 7:36 AM
Stephanie Lorée says:
So this was really good. I’d recommend you pull it down from the interwebz, submit it to Drabblecast or something. Get paid. Seriously good.
May 29, 2014 — 1:39 PM
AE Smith says:
Wow thanks all for the lovely comments. Glad you enjoyed it!
May 30, 2014 — 1:34 PM
angelacavanaugh says:
Ava felt uncomfortable as the doctor prodded her face. In the generations since genetic engineering became mainstream, minor defects had become tragic flaws.
“Yes, I think we can do this now,” the doctor said.
She grimaced and thought of her waiting husband.
The anesthesiologist injected her and she fell into a deep slumber. Too deep. She couldn’t be revived. He finished the procedure, anyway, removing the tiny calcium deposit from her nose. When he was finished, he called in her husband. Tears welled in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, we lost her.”
“It’s ok,” he said. “At least she’s beautiful now.”
May 29, 2014 — 5:46 AM
Catastrophe Jones says:
Oh, man. Best last line to go with this short. I absolutely love it.
May 29, 2014 — 7:35 AM
epbeaumont says:
Whoa … shallow to the bone. Love the hollow consolation at the end, with which both surviving parties seem perfectly content.
May 30, 2014 — 3:03 PM
Alex says:
Great prompt!
http://justafeverdream.wordpress.com/2014/05/29/fugitive/
Moonset.
The waves wish-wish-wish against the dock. Three slide out of the water, all long legs, short arms and small featureless heads. Two slink smokelike through the dark air until they reach a small house on the dry side of town, slipping with ease through the breezy gap under the door, past the growling dog and up the stairs.
A brief silence broken by the ah-ah-ah of a last breath taken with stolen lungs, and a roiling black wisp flows from an upstairs window and lurches back to the dock.
Four slide into the water.
Sunrise.
May 29, 2014 — 10:43 AM
Catastrophe Jones says:
Written earlier.
Posted at 9am today.
Sharing now.
Second Amendment
May 29, 2014 — 11:02 AM
thexenocyde says:
First challenge on here. Hope this sounds good.
Resignation.
A pale face stood over me with an evil grin. With a simple nod of my head I’d accepted my fate, my destiny. The tiniest of pains in my neck and the numbness began to spread until I saw nothing.
Consuming darkness surrounds me leaving me cold. A voice speaks around me but I don’t comprehend. Feeling returns to my limbs radiating out from my head to the tips of my fingers in waves. My eyes snap open to behold the world a ‘new. I’ve been reborn.
“Welcome my child to your new life,” death said. “Welcome to the dark.”
May 29, 2014 — 11:46 AM
Bazooga says:
A western wind blew the dust of a bone-dry city against Kendrick’s shielded visor. Its whistle through empty buildings barely made its way through his insulating suit.
“Fuck,” Jan breathed into her helmet mic.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Kendrick echoed, with each step further from the shuttle.
All this gray waste had become a playground for the wind, patiently grinding down sharp edges, piling up the bits and pieces into corners, to be moved later by a different wind.
The wind wanted it all to be smooth. Over time, long after the shuttle had left, the wind would have it so.
May 29, 2014 — 3:18 PM
authordjdavis says:
It was like nothing he’d seen before. They were right. A thousand universes tearing into his unconscious mind. He would settle down – somewhere – but it wasn’t as simple as that. Tetracore could send your soul anywhere, but it was up to you to choose the destination. And Markus wasn’t sure where he wanted to end up on his first jaunt. Flitting through his head were a gijillion faces and timelines. Finally, he hit one. Those green eyes he could never forget.
He was home again.
He would never leave.
Even if he had to find her through a thousand lifetimes.
May 29, 2014 — 3:35 PM
dangerdean says:
“You don’t remember me, do you?” The tattooist switched out thicker needles on the gun, better for shading. Her client tried to look up, but didn’t, as she was already etching a design into his neck.
“No. Should I?” He breathed deeply, settling into the searing pain, neither hot nor cold, as each line injected ink permanently under his skin. She looked at the source art he’d provided, blackwork of a snake entwined around a skull, then shaded the gothic serif of the T in RAPIST she’d done instead. She shrugged and cleaned the blood from the tattoo.
“You will.”
May 29, 2014 — 5:06 PM
mermaidmaddie says:
wow. very lisbeth salander 🙂
May 30, 2014 — 11:25 AM
dangerdean says:
You know, I didn’t even think of that. I almost didn’t use “Rapist” as the word, because it felt like a cheap gutpunch, but “Thief” was too mild and one would think a murderer would have been dealt with. And now this reply is almost as long as the story itself. 🙂
May 30, 2014 — 12:03 PM
mermaidmaddie says:
indeed. it was a sensible choice, just reminded me of lisbeth.
May 30, 2014 — 12:09 PM
epbeaumont says:
The phrase that comes to mind: “Having the last word.” And indeed she does. Faint echo of Kafka’s penal colony here (the sentence tattooed on the skin). And you manage to make me feel not the least bit sorry for him.
May 30, 2014 — 2:50 PM
dangerdean says:
And, of course, now that I’ve read a few more of these I see at least two almost identical first lines above me.
May 30, 2014 — 9:01 PM
Sayitsultry says:
I give you, “Rain run”
http://sayitsultry.wordpress.com/2014/05/29/rain-run/
Shoulda listen’a Papa.
May 29, 2014 — 5:34 PM