The sole of his foot itched in that way you fear to scratch, in case you end up tickling yourself. It wasn't just that keeping him from stopping her discomfort, though. There were a million reasons.
He was tired. Exhausted. Every bone ached, and his ears were still ringing. Motion was going to give him a headache, so he lay tense instead. Maybe it would go away if he concentrated on other feelings - warm socks, maybe, or cool grass.
Anyway, he didn't want to lean over to tend to it. Then he'd be able to see it wasn't there anymore.
Dayum. ita, the first one is very good, the second one's a corker. Sense upon sense upon sense in there.
BTW - on an entirely different subject - I've just had a happy. An OCLC search revealed the fact that there are copies of And Then Put Out The Light at Oxford and at the library at Trinity College, in Dublin.
And why that should give me the interior warms, I don't know. But it doesn.
Do we talk essays, here, too?
We talk essays here, too.
Anything that's not fanfic, basically.
Where to start on an essay, or where to start talking about one?
(I'm slow today. Ice cream brain.)
So I can post opening paragraphs for the chapters of the book I'll never get around to writing, and you can tell me whether they suck, and i can do the same for you, peppered with what will probably be destructive criticism?
Essentially, yes. I think somebody was concerned about making the header too long.
But I guess that tattoo thing is an essay.
