“How long have you lived here?” Chloe asks.
Rose picks up my steel cup, my plate, my stuff.
“I don’t know.” Just then not knowing the year.
“Twenty six years,” Rose says.
That sounds right but couldn’t be. “That’s how old I am.”
“I never knew this house was here,” Chloe says staring at me. “I’ve never seen you.”
“And I have never seen you.”
“But you’ve been here?”
“Here I’ve been.”
The cat slides around my legs.
I put the pouch of stones on the bookshelf.
“Who gave those to you?”
Strange, I don’t remember.
StormWeaver is a continuing story told in 100 word increments. Read from the beginning by choosing “StormWeaver” in categories.
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