Short Story Tuesday
Attitude
Outlook
Reprisal
Moth
Buzzing
Detached
Lolita
Magenta
French
Dish
Evie sat down in her favorite chair. The one she had found on the side of the road, at the intersection of Leland & Lawn, and was now sitting proudly in place in her caravan.
Evie sat, in her beloved Magenta chair, with the door open, her outlook enriched by the precarious position in which this trailer were perched, under a lemon tree, on top of a hill. From her solitary highpoint, she felt detached yet connected, able to take in everything in Fort Semblance, a small county founded by French settlers looking for a place to call their own. Why this happened to happen smack bang in the middle of British Columbia, god only knows. Perhaps they came this far and were either scared of what lay beyond, or were simply distracted by the beauty of the trees that play dead but have a way of blooming on you at the most unexpected of times.
Evie sat, with a poutin dish in her lap, taking in the scope of a town so quiet, but wary of the buzzing undercurrent that ran through the towns citizens, of which she were mostly afraid. Evelyns got a terrible attitude, they would say, see the way the holds herself, like shes giving up the ghost. It were from these things that she ran and hid. The few times she had to go to town, to pick up supplies, she hid behind a faded red, worn down pair of Lolitaesque heart shaped glasses that Nabakov would be proud of. As she ate, dear little Evie flicked nervously through a beaten up copy of an old F Paul Wilson novel, either Reborn or Reprisal, but It didnt really matter, she had read them all before, and was short handed for entertainment in her trailer of solitude. She sat, she ate, she read and watched as a Moth, seemingly tired from a journey of long distance settled on the patch of petunias at her front door.
Attitude
Outlook
Reprisal
Moth
Buzzing
Detached
Lolita
Magenta
French
Dish
Evie sat down in her favorite chair. The one she had found on the side of the road, at the intersection of Leland & Lawn, and was now sitting proudly in place in her caravan.
Evie sat, in her beloved Magenta chair, with the door open, her outlook enriched by the precarious position in which this trailer were perched, under a lemon tree, on top of a hill. From her solitary highpoint, she felt detached yet connected, able to take in everything in Fort Semblance, a small county founded by French settlers looking for a place to call their own. Why this happened to happen smack bang in the middle of British Columbia, god only knows. Perhaps they came this far and were either scared of what lay beyond, or were simply distracted by the beauty of the trees that play dead but have a way of blooming on you at the most unexpected of times.
Evie sat, with a poutin dish in her lap, taking in the scope of a town so quiet, but wary of the buzzing undercurrent that ran through the towns citizens, of which she were mostly afraid. Evelyns got a terrible attitude, they would say, see the way the holds herself, like shes giving up the ghost. It were from these things that she ran and hid. The few times she had to go to town, to pick up supplies, she hid behind a faded red, worn down pair of Lolitaesque heart shaped glasses that Nabakov would be proud of. As she ate, dear little Evie flicked nervously through a beaten up copy of an old F Paul Wilson novel, either Reborn or Reprisal, but It didnt really matter, she had read them all before, and was short handed for entertainment in her trailer of solitude. She sat, she ate, she read and watched as a Moth, seemingly tired from a journey of long distance settled on the patch of petunias at her front door.