Every night before bed, my mother would sit at the edge of our bed and tell us the most wondrous stories, of faraway kingdoms and princesses with hair made of gold and dragons that breathed fire.
Annie
The story he made up about himself has started to dissolve and fall apart. Like the foundations of an old house. He sways and stutters with frigid movements, unsure of his longevity and his anchors in the shifting earth.
Every night before bed, my mother would sit at the edge of our bed and tell us the most wondrous stories, of faraway kingdoms and princesses with hair made of gold and dragons that breathed fire.
The story he made up about himself has started to dissolve and fall apart. Like the foundations of an old house. He sways and stutters with frigid movements, unsure of his longevity and his anchors in the shifting earth.