|Found on Google Images. I own nothing.|
PROMPT FICTION SNIPPET
Like a pancake. Like my beating heart. Like the way Mark Cutter looked when Darcy Jones told him that she wouldn’t go out with a loser like him.
Two-dimensional. Like a cracker, salted and unsalted. Two slices of bread, like the sandwich that Karen gave Miles for lunch last weekend.
Really, really, flat.
Steam-rolled all nice. Like my cake. Like Jenny Marco’s chest as those rude boys just had to point it out because she refused AnnaMarie’s initiation offer.
What I really am, when I stand here and see everything and say absolutely…nothing.
(c) Sara Harricharan