Golden Son

For the first of the Write Shit Wednesdays I have hosted here on my blog.

Golden Son

The Aravar family is a laughingstock among the four because of the size of our familiars, though we managed to maintain our holdings. Not sporting to pick on the little guy, I suppose.

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Tidal Wave

We, my mother and I, had just climbed out of our little green Nissan.

We walked into the store. Its layout was unlike any place I had ever been. Not that it was particularly bizarre. Just noteworthy that it was foreign to me. I had expected some semblance of familiarity upon entering.

The walls were filled with things I didn’t recognize. The entire floor was bare except for a large (you could swim in it, though I would rather swim with sharks) wire bin in the middle of the store. Within it existed the only thing in the store I knew. I found no comfort in their familiarity.

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