Morning After 37 comments


Copyright-DLovering

Copyright-DLovering

“The sky’s spinning.” Ruprik eyed the gaudy carnival canopy above him through narrowed eyes. Cold from the cobblestones seeped into his back. He untwisted his arm from the legs of an overturned chair and pulled the damp tablecloth across his shoulders. His friend Chauncey lay nearby.

Chauncey hazarded a glance but squeezed his eyes shut. Despite the ice-bucket stuck on his left foot, he curled himself into the fetal position. “That hideous light must mean it’s morning.”

“What happened?”

“Drinking was involved. I recall having sherry on the veranda.”

“Odd,” said Ruprik, “I’m sure I had her in the kitchen.”

 

This past weekend found us in St. Louis at Tartan Days, a Scottish celebration. We didn’t wake up on the ground at the festival, but it was a near miss.  The next morning, I did find a mysterious slice of pita bread in my pocket  and I had the distinct impression I’d been dancing in an unseemly manner. No pictures or YouTube videos have surfaced, so it may not have happened. Many of you have mentioned that you automatically discard your first impression and I heartily agree, but this picture had only one meaning to me.


About Sorchia

I’m S.K. Dubois—writer, editor, and unapologetic lover of all things wonderfully weird and magically delicious. I call the Missouri Ozarks my home, where the misty woods and mysterious hills inspire my tales of urban fantasy, paranormal mysteries, and otherworldly mayhem. When I’m not conjuring up stories, I’m helping fellow authors polish their manuscripts, especially if they involve magic, murder, or things that go bump in the night.

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