Not a lot going on around here other than Sunday Sixes these days, it seems. Six sentences for Sunday, July 20th:
A bright white light erases her. It always goes like this: the light, the light, an indelible flame on the inside of her eyelids—and then she wakes.
Outside, a storm. Lightning breaks from cloud to cloud. There is the light of the storm, but no sound. Trees bend and twist, sharp black shapes against the violet sky.