Mary Kershner


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.



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