What I’m Writing Now
Here’s the first two paragraphs of a story I’m working on.
The flowers looked hungry. The blossoms strained their stem-necks toward them as they walked by. Tiny leaves reached out grabbing at the air. Filaments rippled and gnashed together like hungry teeth and vibrant petals, red, blue, and orange, caught the scent of meat as their ovules growled in hunger.
A red grevillea reached toward Brie. Straining at its roots its tiny red fingers, barbed at the end, reached out for flesh. Grandma brought down her machete chopping the head off the flower. It fell to the ground with a tiny squeal and rolled off the roads embankment into a swarming mass of weeds.