Michael Frost's Frostbitten Blog
She was a beautiful girl, once.
Her crime was Imagination. Her family despised her for it, spiteful of her success, and condemned to a life of hell in an institution where death would have been better suited.
“Why did she do it?”Deputy Myles gasped, his eyes dancing over the fanned mass of brains coating the bathroom wall.
“Well, Hoss,” Sheriff Graham sighed sometimes some people just need killin’.” 8 more words
“She wanted to prove there was magic left in the world.”
“No by flying. She was wrong”
I still see Irma—distant whimpers trail as she ascends the stairs from which she tumbled—always on the day she died.
“The whole time I was staring down the maw of the barrel, all I could think about was did I feed the cat.”
From “Purple Black” by Michael Frost
“Richard! Shut the fucking door!” she screeched it to me; stabbing my eardrums with her terrified voice, but like a fool I shook my head ignoring her. 32 more words
1 hour, 17 minutes
Just beyond the mire are the woods and amongst those tree there are secrets. They whisper you in; never out.
From “Where The Wildlings Keep” by Michael Frost
1 hour, 20 minutes