The Arrow and its Mark #writephoto

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The Arrow and its Mark (289 Words)

She leaned on her elbows. It was a warm bright day with a cool wind ghosting the tops of the trees.

The water was blue under the sky. For a long time Kat watched, seeing the shapes of minnows like vague small shadows below. But then she saw it. It was a silver flash, sudden as direct sunlight. It was visible only for a moment, a long gleaming tail following a vague human shape.

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The Umbrella

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The Umbrella (175 Words)

She had carried the umbrella since she was a girl. Sunshine and rain, there was the umbrella in her hand like a gentleman’s cane. And walking in a moonlight garden with her sister, there was the umbrella spread as always.

Angie hadn’t seen her sister in ten years. Both of them had changed, but there was that umbrella.

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It’s the Eyes

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It’s the Eyes (99 Words)

There was no mistaking her pursed lips. It was always dangerous when she frowned at her own work. But for the last week, Annie hadn’t looked at her sketchbook any other way.

He asked what was the matter. It was an innocent question. He didn’t expect to be confronted with his own body.

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Big Nose

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Big Nose (133 Words)

Big Nose would always remember that morning. It was bitter cold. But the calf was still alive. In the early light it rested there, not quite ready to stand, while Eddie kept the fire going. Big Nose kept close to the fire, too. Although the cold didn’t affect him badly, he was a smart horse and never said no to heat.

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Betty Dances

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Betty Dances (291 Words)

Five years old and Betty was as much a mystery to her mother as she was the day she was born. The little girl seemed so serious, straightening her hair with pudgy fingers, watching not her hair but her own frowning face in the mirror.

“I never wanted to be a ballerina when I was her age either,” said a man’s quiet, teasing voice.

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Marble Garden #writephoto

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Marble Garden (822 Words)

A silent, solemn figure to steal through the graves, his long cloak trailing in ebon folds as if he hurried night into the evening’s blue mists. Past the disconnected lines of wooden crosses he walked, mindless of the old and pausing in a moment’s fixed grief at the newer. His glance swept the cracked marble of aging stones but never for a moment did his purpose falter, and his direct progress led him straight to the gnarled cherry, shedding vibrant color in sharp spring wind.

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