GOOD BONES

The monster lay in wait, casting long shadows over the cobblestones of Pond Street. It wore a pelt of dark gray shingles, warped and bristling from years of salt air and frigid winters. Two gable-eyes surveyed the patch of dead lawn out front; a wide porch smiled with missing spindles like broken teeth.

Against the dark gray countertop, the piece of white paper sat. At once ordinary and menacing. I'd become practiced at erecting walls around the thinking, feeling parts of myself. Learned to ignore the threats.


Representation:
Gina Panettieri, Literary Agent  
Talcott Notch Literary