The book glared balefully at her from the countertop
where she’d left it.
Just because it didn’t have eyes didn’t mean it couldn’t
glare, because that’s what it was doing- she could feel it.
Always a supporter of independent authors, she’d picked
it up at a little independent bookstore in West Texas.
The premise of the book was intriguing and she’d had high
hopes for it, but when she started reading it, her hopes dropped with a moist “plop”
onto the floor and oozed their way under the table, embarrassed.
It. Was. Bad.
But she could never throw it away.
No comments:
Post a Comment