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Weekly Contest #279
“Time to sweep,” I said and sighed. And no one answered. No one ever answers. No one but the wind. It speaks. It spoke. But it couldn’t have been the wind. The windows were closed—the blinds were drawn—they’re always closed—always drawn—it’s always dark at dawn in here—it stinks in here—that's because there's no wind. Outside, while I work, the wind might talk, might hush or mock or play its twister games, but not in here. Never in here. So maybe it was me. Was me that answered, I mean. I never answer, but maybe I did this time.Anyway, it an...
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