2006-03-08 1437 Writing: == 1665 == : Most of the village came out to look. Young Bill had run down, shouting himself . . .

1665

Most of the village came out to look. Young Bill had run down, shouting himself hoarse as his feet had moved from soft wet grass to cold cobbles. Kara stepped out from her bakery, her long shadow thrust across the rough stones half blocking the fiery glow within. She swept Bill up with one meaty arm, smudging flour like a sash across his back. Bill wriggled as she laughed.

I’ve finally finished 1665. It’s a longish short story about love, bread and zombies. Hope you like it.

Read more at The Grey Scribe….

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