"I missed my chance. I should have gone for the throat. I should have lunged for that streak of white under the weasel's chin and held on, held on through mud and into the wild rose, held on for a dearer life. We could live under the wild rose wild as weasels, mute and uncomprehending. I could very calmly go wild. I could live two days in the den, curled, leaning on mouse furs, sniffing bird bones, blinking, licking, breathing musk,....." *KILLS SELF*
DAMN YOU CREATIVE NONFICTION, HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME READ WENCH DILLARD!!!!!!,,,well it's only 3 pages, BUT STILL!!!!
Now I have to write a short piece modeled after, "Living Like Weasels"
"Kitty!!! I'd never seen one this close before. It was fat as a pumpkin, and as black as a midnight gypsy, with fur as soft as the morning sun. Her face was expressionless, and sharp as a bears claw........"
Only one class tomorrow, and not until 2:00, *dances*