The sea was churning back and forth in George’s stomach. His eyes were turning green, and he didn’t know which way to turn. Whether he could crawl out from beneath the burden of destiny, this pre-ordained future he had no say in. He didn’t want to sit still, drink tea and become a stodgy portrait. […]
via A Chip Off The Old Block… Friday Fictioneers. — Beyond the Flow
WILDsound Festival 