Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Thousand: Seven Hundred Fifteen

good kick. She considers the gut, the knee, lets herself picture her foot slamming under the chin, the flips the little creature would make. She’s not going to do that. That would be mean. Besides, who knows what a leprechaun is capable of. It hasn’t moved. Frozen? Did time stop here? Can that even happen? Who knows what can happen. Is it dead? Kicking the leprechaun would require going up to it. Even in the act of knocking it away you’d have to touch it. She has avoided looking toward the open door. Her eyes need to adjust. If she

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