So, I had this conversation via text a while back:<\/p>\n
Pretty Lady<\/strong>:\u00a0Haha I like texting, don’t get me wrong, I just hate typing heaps on my phone\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n Me<\/strong>:\u00a0Ah, that makes sense. So I’ll save the heaving bodice talk for when you’re not on your phone. Mmmm… bodices and ankles and bosoms :-)<\/em><\/p>\n A single bead of sweat crept from beneath the band of Little Joe’s hat, burrowing through caked on dirt until it worked itself down into a muddy afterthought.\u00a0 The young man rubbed the back of his grimy hand against his cheek, smearing the streak and wiping away dry earth.\u00a0 He squinted up at the sun while he pushed the heavy plough behind the family’s old, tired draft horse.\u00a0 The remains of weeds and old crop lay in the furrows behind him.\u00a0 Little Joe could see his father in the distance.\u00a0 The old man was mending their fences after one of the sheep got tangled in it.\u00a0 There’d be fresh mutton if the dumb animal didn’t survive.<\/p>\n Little Joe removed his wide brimmed hat to scratch at his black, wavy hair.\u00a0 He fanned himself and wished for the hundredth time that a breeze, any kind of breeze would come by and cool him off.\u00a0 He eyed wide blue sky but the one tiny white cloud far off in the distance gave no hope for shade and his father would have his hide if he ran off to rest under one of their apple trees.\u00a0 Tree lined mountains surrounded the small world he lived in and, again for the hundredth time, he told himself he’d make it to those mountains and keep walking.\u00a0 Some day.\u00a0 For now his bare feet dug into the fresh turned earth and provided him his only comfort in the sweltering heat.<\/p>\n “Saint Fran-swaur,” Little Joe whispered.\u00a0 He’d stopped his learning a long time ago but he could remember Miss Pastern in her thick dress and hair pulled back.\u00a0 Her with her stick, tapping on an old sheet of paper and trying to teach the packed room about their local geography.\u00a0 Little Joe remembered little of what he was supposed to have learned but he always remembered the name of the mountain range nearby.\u00a0 “Saint Fran-swaur,” he repeated, as if saying the very words would carry him away from his home.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" So, I had this conversation via text a while back: Pretty Lady:\u00a0Haha I like texting, don’t get me wrong, I just hate typing heaps on my phone\u00a0 Me:\u00a0Ah, that makes sense. So I’ll save the heaving bodice talk for when Continue reading The Pact – A Small Preview<\/span>