whompingwriter
Summer was our season. The four of us in that one cabin, practically in the middle of nowhere, messing with sparklers, and staying in watching the same movies over and over, gorging on junk food. Summer is our season.
A wake is a horrible thing. To see your loved one devoid of life, just laying there in a casket. You see them, and yet you don't. A wake is full of pain and lost memories.
The edges of the pages were quite ragged. The book's smell hinted that it had been through many centuries in its time. Its pages were yellowed with age, its cover hardback and leathery.