Religion In Pirate's Wells (Short Story) Part 5b
“Mornin’ Miss Ida,” the voice come from close behind me. It Darrel Murphy, smiling broad and looking cool and fresh in the morning sun. He give me a start, sneaking up on me; just ain’ natural for a man so big to move so quiet. “Umhum,” I say’. I walk couple steps away from him, assault another piece of bush, chop at it so hard shards of rock spray out and sparks fly off the cutlass. Every swing I make is a curse I rain down on his head. As usual he don’t take the hint. “Fine day we havin’ Miss... Sign in to see full entry.