Prize Story - Indianapolis Branch, League of American Pen Women Contest
In a way, the morning opened like any other morning. Peter wakened, scratched an ear, rubbed an eye, straightened out a leg that had been folded like a bent wing beneath him. The same stiffness all over his body, the same heaviness weighting down his eyes. The difference was that he had wakened earlier. He floated quietly on a wave with his face turned to the sky.
"The Translation of Peter Polo,"
Manuscripts: Vol. 12
, Article 6.
Available at: http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/manuscripts/vol12/iss4/6