CRAWFORD DAWSON
It was freshly Christmas Eve, about two hours into the newly born day. In my memory, it was snowing, but a piece of me now doubts that….Continue Reading A Christmas (Eve) Story
Tag: Crawford Dawson
The Shella We Used to Call Home
CRAWFORD DAWSON
I watched the gentle rain patter lightly on the windowpane against which I had been resting my head. Each drop slowly flowed down the pane, coalescing into larger pearls, which proceeded to fall in turn to collide with other translucent pearls. The coolness of the glass had eased the heat, which was on the precipice of overtaking what constituted me….Continue Reading The Shella We Used to Call Home
Haunted
CRAWFORD DAWSON
She bit her lip. What she was about to do was a felony, or at the very least, a crime. But she simply had to do it. …Continue Reading Haunted