runHe turned to her, suddenly. “So you . . .?”

“Yes.” Softly. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“So then . . .?”


“But how . . .?”

“Yes . . . I mean . . .” Her gaze faltered. She looked up.

“It wasn’t me, Drake.”

“Wasn’t you? But you just . . .”

Cecilia pointed to a woman — her mirror image — out the window, and ran.

I was searching for inspiration last night, and nothing came. And so I thought, Why not try something different? My favorite blogger Vincent used to publish fifty-word stories all the time. Could I? The above isn’t much of a story. It’s more of an intro. But when I reread it this morning, I decided, Eh? Why not?

Note: As a follow-up to my last post, you may have noticed I’m trying out a new theme. Nothing is permanent. This one needs work. But that’s why things shift, yes?