by Ari Collins
“It bit me, Daddy!” He pointed at his shadow.
I stared for a long moment. The shadow’s finger, outstretched like Billy’s, seemed crooked. Double-jointed, almost. I turned my gaze to Billy’s index finger. Had it always been so short?
I stepped closer. Gulped. “It’ll be okay, Billy.” My son’s finger was missing a knuckle.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Shadow
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1 comment:
Talk about biting the hand that feeds you. Ouch.
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