stories written by Phoebe

Every time I walked past those bushes, I heard it- the rustling.

Mother just says "You're imagining it,you are an excitable young girl." Sometimes she would add  "What kind of a wife will you make?"

Now I can see a face, a starving, lonely face.

I told Mother but she said  "You should live more in the real world, how will you bring up children?"

One day I saw a man, a strong man, a tall man. A man with a sack. One day the girl didn't come home.

Now there are two lonely, starving faces in the hedge.

# posted by firedrake @ 8:29 am