The Watcher

I was going through some social media posts, cleaning them up when I found a link to a story I wrote quite some time ago. I had completely forgotten I wrote this…would love to remember where my mind was at that day…so check it out. Would love to hear what you think.

Chronicles of Illusions

Okay – I’ve taken the Indy Ink Challenge for the first time. I was challenged by Melissa R to write something that included the following: 97 degrees, a subway ride, a high school classmate, a woman in a hat with flowers.

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They look at peace is how I would describe it. The young woman and the elderly lady. They sit across from me, holding hands, whispering to each other. I hate trying to estimate someone’s age. Never been good at it – usually get it wrong by years, but the young lady looks like she is in her twenties.

She’s wearing jeans. I’d like to take a jagged rusty dagger to the throat of the man who invented jeans. Let ‘im know I’m coming for him, walk slow, real slow and…real slow, grip that knife and drag it across his throat ‘til the blood oozes out and down…

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Author: Jo Bryant

I was born in the land of Banjo Paterson, gum trees, and weather extremes. I am a freelance writer. I live in the Bay of Plenty, New Zealand, but still like to claim my Australian heritage. I graduated with a Bachelor of Communications in 2008. I am writing my first novel. I love to write poetry, short stories, and also write for the web. And there is nothing that is on a par with a sunny summer's day spent at Waihi Beach.

4 thoughts on “The Watcher”

  1. Where’ve you been Jo??? I miss you crazy bird. This story (and yes I read it all) is excellent, very powerful and imaginative. You have a real talent for getting inside the head of a mad woman. So, have you been writing since you got back from Europe? If not why not? I hope you’re not stuck like me!

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    1. Have been in a real funk writing wise Gilly. Travelling took it out of me a bit, and have been running around like a headless chook organising a photography competition. Trying to get back in to some sort of groove, but not so successful as yet.

      Like

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