The sun was a ball of melting butter on the crimson horizon. It took her breath away. The air clear and crisp, the sky above her receding into encroaching darkness. About her feet was sticky with the congealing blood of her lover. A thought occurs, has she packed a toothbrush?

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12 thoughts on “TOOTHBRUSH

  1. I revel in my Irish ancestry.My latest book is chronicling three generation of Irish immigrants to America, starting in 1849. The research is wonderful. Here’s the first two paragraphs.

    It started out as a dream. A dream of a place where no one ever went hungry and fine Irish whiskey flowed from the fountains—a land of good and plenty. But first the nightmare had to be endured.

    In the second year of An Gorta Mhór—The Great Famine—MacMurragh stepped into Devin Mahoney’s cabin, but stopped short just inside the door. There was not a stick of furniture present; it had been sold off, one piece at a time, as the hunger grew. Devin had not eaten for five days, and then it was only a meager cupful of cornmeal. Before that he had gone three days without a morsel of food passing his lips. Devin Mahoney, the descendant of kings, lay on the dirt floor of his small, dark cabin.
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