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Weekly Contest #96
Annabella Conner sat with knees drawn up to her chest on that old porch, sagging and beat up from years gone by. The same porch she must've painted a hundred times over with that thick, creamy white stale-smelling paint; the same porch that she used to sit on with her brother during those hot summer afternoons, sipping bitter lemonade made from stolen lemons. She wanted those days back, so very badly; she wanted to spend hours in beautiful, perfect silence on that porch. She wanted a way to fix her life that had spiraled down and down, out o...
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