Wednesday Write-in #8

Welcome to the Wednesday Write-in!

CAKE.shortandsweet runs a write-in every week to writers to practise their skills, and get chatting to each other about their work. Everyone is welcome to join in, and the more people you tell, the more everyone will get out of it.

Starting this week, the featured author will be able to publish their story on Ether Books under our own category!

Given the number of people entering from outside the UK we’re also going to start posting earlier, from 12am Wednesday morning.



glaze  ::  benefits  ::  lollipop  ::  hardwood  ::  grip


There are no hard and fast rules, but here are some brief guidelines:

  • You can use the prompts as inspiration or try to work them into your story somehow. Use as many as you want.
  • When your story is done, post it online (your blog/twitter/in a comment here), tag with #wednesdaywritein and comment with a link so we can read it. You can write as many stories as you like.
  • Please take the time to read and comment on as many other stories as you can.

Featured Story

We’ll feature our favourite story on the blog with a review of it and links to the author’s blog/twitter/facebook if relevant.

Posts will generally go up at 12am(ish) on Wednesday – stories are due by 10am Thursday (UK) to be considered for the featured story. You can keep posting your work after this, it just won’t be featured.

NOTE: From this week, the featured writer will also be eligible to publish their story through Ether Books under our special CAKE.shortandsweet category.


We’ll keep track of who takes part in the write-ins, and you earn points for different things.

  • Take part in a write-in = 1 point.
  • Comment on other people’s stories = 1 point.
  • Share/reblog this post = 1 point.

When you reach ten points the editing team will give detailed feedback on a story of your choice. This only counts for separate sessions—so if you write five stories for one write-in, that counts as one, and if you share on both facebook and twitter, that’s one.


Please look for us on Facebook or Twitter to keep up with the write-ins, or click the follow button to get blog updates!

Don’t forget to read our Previous Issues and check out the Submissions page if you’d like to be a!


Any questions? Otherwise, have fun writing!


128 thoughts on “Wednesday Write-in #8

  1. Pingback: Story :: Dutch Courage « a slice of imagination

  2. Here’s my story it’s called cake


    She was determined today would be different. Today would be the day his eyes did not glaze over when she asked him a question. They had not worked together for long, which is why, she told herself, there were bound to be ‘communication’ problems as he called them.

    It was the first time she had worked with a male Head of Department and, if asked, without going against the so-called sisterhood, she would have had to reply that, up to now, she preferred working under a man. The previous H.o.D had so many changes of mood within a day it was hard to work out what she wanted and when she wanted it. She still cannot understand how buying someone Red Clover and Black Cohosh to help with menopause symptoms was insulting. When someone asks you hold old do you think they are everyone knows you should deduct how every many years it would take for them to be flattered. Apparently, even ten years subtraction was still not enough.

    He did not have a sweet tooth that was obvious when he rejected her lemon drizzle cake and chocolate cup- cakes. Pies, nuts, crisps, cheese and items from the deli counter at Tesco’s also did not seem to wet his appetite. She did not really mind, if he lost weight the suits might not be such a snug fit. Although she knew M & S had one of the best sale and return policies, she had mislaid the receipt and had lost the credit note for his shirts after realising blue really was not his colour. She made a note to check out Ikeas range of wardrobes. Not that she minded giving up her clothes space for his and she was sure he would appreciate it after he moved in. He would definitely understand the benefits, apart from the obvious sexual one. They would save money on petrol when they used her car instead of travelling separately to the office. She just had to bide her time until he realised he could no longer live in denial of their mutual attraction. In the meantime she could continue preparing for their future life together. The honeymoon was already booked and now there was just another meeting with the Vicar to go over the fine details. She wondered if he like lemon drizzle cake.

    • I was a bit confused by the last paragraph which seems to take flight from the rest – but going back to the start it makes perfect sense. So, I’d maybe consider cutting the middle paragraph, which I think distracts from the woman’s fantasy and feels like another story. It also comes off as pretty sexist. Why point out that having a man makes a difference, I feel it should be that particular manager who was just a nightmare! Of course, if your main character is just really sexist that’s fine! I just wondered if you could write it another way. I do really like the humour in it though, but I think in a piece so short you need to focus more on the other relationship.

      Speaking of which, I thought it was good, if dark! I was starting to really worry about the main character by the last line actually, I think she’s definitely got a couple of screws loose. I like how it accelerates towards the end, going from cake to shirts to honeymoons! Very funny … and utterly tragic.

      • Thanks for your comments. Yes she is definately sexist and she also has a major screw loose. Glad you enjoyed it and found it funny and dark that’s what I was aiming for. Cheers

      • I have to disagree about cutting the middle paragraph; it segues nicely between a normal person at work who’s having a bit of trouble into someone who’s taking too much of an interest in their colleagues; without it the jump to obsessing over her current boss would be much too harsh.

      • Comments on CAKE. Oh my God! That woman! Was it just total fantasy that she was getting together with that man? If so, he’d better watch out. And if they were actually getting together, he’d still better watch out! 😉

    • Perfect example of the unreliable narrator – what a character! Nicely done. If I’d change anything I’d shorten the bit about the previous boss that she didn’t like – I think if she just stopped at saying how tedious it was to work for someone who didn’t know what they wanted or changed their minds too often – it would be enough. Small typo in the last line – ‘liked’ instead of ‘like’? I liked this piece the most of all your flashes, that I’ve read on here.

      • Thanks Brinda. I put in the stuff about the previous boss in the hope that it would help show just how delusional she is. Glad you liked it. It was nice to write something with some humour in for a change, even if it is very dark.

    • So that last line, when she wonders if he likes lemon cake – is that to show just how off she is? because he already said no at the top of that paragraph.

      I liked the rapid flow, how fast it unravelled – also, this is a terrifying idea. Nicely done.

    • Heya, it’s great how the hinted ‘communication problems’ of the first paragraph, project into the rest of the piece, and grow so big that by the end they are practically talking in different languages. Great irony. I love Fatal Attraction. That line about ten years not being enough is funny. The lemon drizzle cake can’t be the end thing because its in the piece earlier. I think you mean, she wondered if he’d like her pet snake.

  3. Here is my entry for the day. A rather black little tale.


    Cutting, sawing, cutting, sawing. Save for the lone birdsong it was all she could hear. Then it stopped. He was coming back. Was he walking on crushed stone? There was silence before fourteen bangs of a hammer. She tried to blink, tried to close her eyes, tried to dislodge the duck tape and willed her breathing to slow. She needed to hear. She could smell leaves, wood smoke. Was he close? Footsteps and silence. Footsteps and silence. An engine started, it sounded like the pick-up he had carried her in. It faded and the frantic struggle for freedom began.
    Held upright in the hardwood box hurt her knees; her clothes were caked in crap. She had to get a grip.

    • I like the atmosphere of this, though I think you could go further with the ‘frantic struggle’ – I want to know what the main character is feeling. You cover sound and smell really well, and I assume sight isn’t doing her much good in a box. What does the inside of the box feel like, and how does she feel? Scared? Excited?

      I’m a little confused by the crushed stone, and his actions generally are quite unclear. This makes sense as she can’t see them – but could she maybe guess at what he’s doing? Surely in that situation, your mind would jump to some kind of conclusions?

      But I like this, and I think it could be the start of something really interesting!

      • Thanks Sarah. There is such a thing as duck tape honest! I think it’s a brand of duct tape…obviously the bathtub cartoon version has stuck in my head! Yes, this piece could have been expanded, it was meant to be a snapshot, I didn’t want to take it any further. Perhaps it is too horrible an idea? Crushed stone = gravel. She can’t see and is relying on her sense of hearing, trying to workout whether she is in someones garage or driveway or is out in the country. I imagined a scenario where a young woman wakes up in a coffin, she can’t move as she is taped.

      • I think that’s what we needed to see – her thought process as she tries to determine where it is. I kind of got your intentions but it wasn’t clear, and it didn’t engage me enough with the character. I want to be there in her head, trapped and terrified 😀

      • Thanks Sarah, your comments are taken on board. I think I wanted to remain detached from the character, it was almost too painful to know her.. I feared there would be another after her,so I guess that’s why the perspective is from the outside. Does it make sense? Maybe I just need to add more?

    • Hi Jeanette.
      My impression when I read this is that the character is listening to something happening in the distance. You say in your comment to Sarah she’s in a coffin. Is the cutting and sawing, and the hammer meant to be stuff happening to the coffin? If so, I’d like to know more about how close it was all happening. I was imagining she was inside a house hearing all this stuff happening outside. Not right on top of her.

      I like how you’ve written the actions of the man because I could really visualise it in my head, even though you were just telling me the sound and smell.

      • This comment is for Jeanette’s Mahogony. What a ghastly story, but then I guess it was meant to be. It reminded me a little of ROOM, by Emma Donoghue. Have you read it? If not, you should. I agree that you could delve deeper and reveal more, but can understand why you didn’t want to!

      • Hi Kiwirebecca

        Yes, the character was keeping quiet, stuffed in the hardwood box/coffin and listening from inside a an outbuilding, maybe a shed, so she could hear the hammering and banging, I also imagined the box to have drilled air holes (should have said that). I kept her quiet because I wanted her to gather any information she could to help her assess how close he was. In my mind, if she made a fuss and hollered, he would kill her.

      • Your thought process makes total sense – and I love that you wrote such a cool, rational character. I only mean that I think we need to see the progression of her thoughts, and understand that she’s keeping quiet in order to escape/not get hurt any more 🙂

    • Hi Jeanette – Well done in creating a dreadful scenario! My one question would be the whole scene is quiet – would she not panic and struggle more, shout and yell after he leaves? I wish she gets out alive. the fact that she hears all those sounds and smells mean she is not underground right? You definitely make the reader shudder and feel for the woman’s plight. It does not matter who she is we all want her to escape. 🙂

      • Thanks Brinda, perhaps I’ve answered this question in the above reply? In my head she was keeping quiet to weigh things up before attempting a move. I remember reading something years ago of a woman who was held captive in a bin and she was told that if she moved around a mighty weight would fall and crush her – it kept her still. Horrid.

    • I liked it and think it could either be the start or part of something longer. Not sure about the crushed stone. Would that be gravel and would she be able to smell leaves while in a hardwood box? Tiny, tiny points which in no way distract from how good it is.

      • Thanks Teawithastranger, initially, I did write gravel, but because I do a lot of mountain walking and come across small disused quarries a fair bit it found its way into the story…perhaps that bit didn’t work very well.
        I also imagined her sense of smell would be heightened and allowed a hint of smoke to filter through. Thanks for the comments.

    • Hi Jeanette
      I agree with Sarah – some emotions in this would do it some good. I liked the description, building a vision for her blindfolded (?) eyes.
      Wondering if you needed to repeat ‘Footsteps and silence’, but is this because you wanted to emphasise him walking and pausing?
      You’ve inspired me for a halloween piece I need to write for Monday, thanks! Might be a shorter ‘Buried’ (seen the film?) -like piece. Buried alive!!!
      And I love duck tape.

  4. Thanks for the extra time — here is my entry for the week — I used glaze, grip, hardwood, and lollipop

    ‘Pyramiding’ by Brinda Banerjee

    Scraping the polished Brazilian cherry hard wood floors, I drag the antique Louis VI chair under the hook on the ceiling; the otherwise empty room in the massive pent house apartment mocking me. The place, with its moldings and tall windows through which the sounds of Manhattan filtered in, seemed to say – look how the entire city throbs with the talent and energy of millions that manage to succeed the honorable way. You belong to the pitiful number that relies on swindling the hoi polloi. I gulp air, mouth open, feeling my lungs slosh with unnamed guilt and unresolved accusations. I will surely drown in a moment. I shut my eyes. I will not think of my young sons.

    A scene from my childhood surfaces: my six year old self gripping the top branch of a tall oak in the grounds of our new family estate, I am petrified and unable to move. Or help myself. Say please, my father says, as though I’ve asked him for a lollipop; he is standing firm, arms akimbo, not stretching them out to catch me. The sun is in his eyes and he lifts a hand to shade them; a wolfish grin sparks for a moment on his bronzed face.

    My eyes glaze over when I look up at the ceiling, till I’m seeing two, three hooks. Déjà vu strikes, I feel a sharp fear and grapple with the same rejection of my childhood: this time too he is not here to save me. I will not think of my sons and that I will not be there to catch them.

    • You’re welcome, I’m glad you were able to join in.

      I like this piece. It can be tricky to write about suicide in an interesting way but I think you’ve taken a good stab! I like that you never say outright what’s going on, though from the moment of pulling over the chair we understand, it’s very clear.

      The memory of the father is really nice, and I’d love to see more of this, get a little hint of how that experience has imprinted on this person’s life, perhaps driven them down this route.


    • Even though I guessed about the suicide from the beginning it didn’t get in the way of my enjoying your story. I wasn’t sure about the line ‘slosh with unamed guilt and unresolved accusations. I got the content I think it was the word slosh, maybe I’m just not used to it. Maybe drowning in unamed guilt would be an alternative but then that would impact on your next line of’drown in a minute’. I think I would cut the line ‘or help myself’ as the previous line says it so well. The ‘say please’ send shivers as it’s laden with cruelty or is he joking?

      • Oh he isn’t joking –your shudder was the right reaction. Thanks! Thanks for the input on tightening those inner thoughts – will reread.

    • Hi Brinda.
      This is very emotional and I like it. You paint a good scene at the start, which implied to me that money can’t buy you happiness.

      The scene from her childhood is lovely and I like how you incorporate it into the end. To me, in the end she’s ultimately doing what her father did – not being there to help her children.

      Only one thing I found difficult to read was the first line. ‘polished Brazilian cherry hard wood floors’ was a bit tongue twisting for me. Maybe you could write something like ‘scraping the hard wood of the polished Brazillian cheery wood floors.’

      • Hi Rebecca thanks — you’re right – that first line is a bit of doozy – I’ll rethink.

    • I didn’t get the suicide; I thought the falling was a touch more metaphorical, casting around for a point of stability in the midst of a breakdown that had something to do with her sons. The emotion comes across really well, but I missed the implications of the hook entirely. I could well just be slow though.

      • No not slow – reactions are mixed and it is upto the reader’s interpretations really – so as long as the desperation and the harmful relation to the father came through I’m pleased. Thanks!

    • I really like the thought of this piece, your writing is very rich in detail. The set up of the antique chair, the beautiful floor, the massive pent house….why is this person unhappy again…immediately counterbalanced with this childhood memory that hints at many reasons for unhappiness. I wasn’t sure on the deju vu strikes, seemed a bit glib for the experience they are going through. Wouldn’t it be more blunt and stripped down, And I’m six again, and he is still watching me fall. I know you’ve practically said that, just a retouch really. Likeee x

  5. Here’s my entry this week

    Put a stop to him.

    She checked his pulse.
    “Still beating.” She lifted his lids. There was a safe glaze over his eyes. He’ll be out for a while. He will probably have concussion but he’ll survive.
    The little boy beside him gathered himself up into his mother’s arms. She stood staring open-mouthed at the black crumpled figure on the ground in front of her.
    After putting him into the recovery position the woman made the call.
    “Yes the police and an ambulance please.”
    As soon as they arrived she offered to take the little boy to school. She needed the walk to get some life back into her legs, they felt like jelly. She left the mother to give her witness statement. She was pretty shook up. She told the little boy she’d get his teacher to give him no homework for being such a good boy. She explained what had happened to his teacher.
    She went back and gave her version of events. Having just accompanied a multi-coloured group of skipping and jumping children across the black and white stripes, she turned to see a man in a black hood shouting at a woman. He grabbed her boy. The mother screamed and screamed as he backed away. It was then that she saw that he was pointing a gun at the mother. He continued to back towards the lady but was unaware of her presence. His peripheral vision was obscured by his hood and all sound of approach was blocked by the mother’s screams.
    “One of the benefits of being a lollipop lady” she stretched and flexed her open fist, “a hardwood grip.” She said to the police who stood back as she held up her sign, high in the air and swung with the whoosh of a medieval warrior, displaying with prowess how she had knocked him out.
    “A swift stop sign to the head. That soon put a stop to him.”

    • I really love this idea. Really enjoyed the practical, down-to-earth lollipop lady just getting on with things and not taking any shit, she’s brilliant. I love the ending too, the portrayal of her as a mighty warrior, it paints a really vivid picture of the woman in my head.

      The only thing that felt a bit odd was the part where she takes the boy off to school – there’s too much repetition with every sentence starting ‘She …’ and I also wonder whether the mother would let her son be carted off by someone else so easily, after nearly losing him once. I was also a bit confused when she’s giving her statement, I think because you just go into it as another sentence and we don’t see the police or any distinction in the type, it’s a bit confusing. This line in particular: He continued to back towards the lady but was unaware of her presence. It took me a moment to work out who the lady was supposed to be – I’d maybe consider giving your heroine a name, as she’s pretty important to the story, and it would clear up all this confusion.

      I love the ending as I said, but I think the repetition of ‘stop’ in there is a bit jarring. I feel like there is a brilliant pun to be made there somewhere, which would really fit with the comedy.Hmmm.

      Anyway, well done again, Emmaleene 🙂

    • I love the character. Straight forward no nonsense lolly pop lady. I got a bit confused and had to re-read the part after: “She went back and gave her version of events.” I assumed everything after this sentence was still in the present, which didn’t make it sound right until I re-read the paragraph and figured out that its actually her version of events. There’s no signal of the transition between past and present which is what confused me. That was really my only qualm with this piece.

      Well done a great idea! The ending is terrific 😀

  6. Wow! So many entries this week!! Here’s mine.

    On Foreign Shores

    “But is ’e entitled to benefits?” Silvia shouted down the phone.
    “We will have to review your case, Mrs Underwood,” the girl said slowly, “and phone you back.”
    “I’m not stupid. You don’t have to talk so slowly!”
    “But nothing! I’ve lived in this country probably longer than you ’ave been born!”
    “My manager is looking into your son’s case. We will-”
    “Timo is not my son! Don’t you people ever listen? He is a Japanese student staying with me for six weeks.”
    “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
    “Did you also forget that his appendix burst? And that the doctor told him it was an ‘upset stomach’?”
    “No, Mrs Underwood. I have all the information here now.”
    “Well, maybe you could get that manager of yours to take a look at it!”

    Silvia snapped her phone shut and stormed into the nineteenth century red-brick building that housed St. Margaret’s hospital. She knew the way to Timo’s room without hesitation as she had visited him every day since he’d been admitted a week ago.
    “How are you, darling?” Silvia asked. She put the bag of shopping onto a chair by the bedside and took his hand in hers.
    Timo’s face was as white as the sheets he was lying on. “Okay,” he replied.
    “He’s always okay,” the Jamaican nurse said. “Such a good patient.” She pushed the heavy trolley, with orange and green lollipops on it for the younger patients, out of the room.

    Driving back on the busy Kent roads, Silvia thought about all the work at home that wasn’t being done. She gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned the colour of Timo’s pale face. She had rows and rows of clay pots, plates and bowls sitting on her hardwood counter in her garden workshop waiting to be glazed and fired.

    But for now her priority was Timo, and getting him the support he needed for a mistake that wasn’t his.

    • This week seems to be the week where a lot of stories would definately work as longer pieces or novels and I think yours is one of them. I want to know what happens next, what was the mistake, and what’s the real relationship between the two of them. I enjoyed it and wanted more.

    • I agree that this feels like the start to a longer piece, which is partly because you leave the narrative unresolved, and I’m not entirely sure who the main character is. With the focus being so much on Timo and what’s happened to him – why are we watching Silvia? There are some details that feel really out of place, like you’ve tried to force prompts into it – the glazed pots for example. It seemed to me that she was going home, but then she mentions getting support for Timo – how does she plan to do this? I think we need a little hint here. Is she going to phone an embassy? Report the doctor to the GMC? Go after them with an axe and steal their money for Timo? Also, why is she so concerned for him? Of course, anyone would be, but he is just some student who’s staying with her. What actually is their relationship, and why is she getting so involved? (It could be that the woman on the phone asks her this?) Also, where are Timo’s family? Has she talked to them? Maybe she could reassure him in the hospital that they’re on their way over or something. Or that she’s spoken to them and they can’t make it.

      Well! As you can see, you have left me with lots of questions 😀 I love the set up for this and I’d really like to see you write more about these characters, there’s so much still to tell.

      • Oh! I also picked up on an unusual accent from Silvia but had no idea what it was supposed to be. I gathered from the initial conversation she might be Japanese (hence being mistaken for his mother?) but I was left a bit confused.

      • Thanks to teawithastranger and to sarahgracelogan for your long and detailed feedback! it certainly gives me more to think about and what else I could do with this piece! 🙂

    • The conversation flows well in this piece and yes, leaves a lot unresolved, but I like that. I’m intrigued by the relationship…she calls him ‘darling’…is she a naughty lady? Does she call everyone darling? I agree with Sarah about the glazed pots, I’m not sure that bit worked, the rest was easy to picture. Well done.

    • Hi Laura. Once again another great story where your dialogue shines. I can feel an accent coming through. It flows so well. I can feel her frustration at the system and how much she cares about Timo.

  7. Pingback: Fallible Opinions - The Modern Disabled

  8. Pingback: Fallible Opinions - Wednesday write-in #8

  9. Pingback: Dzinski – Lollipop « Craig Towsley

  10. Pingback: Glazed | brassduke's Blog

  11. Hi!! First time commenter here. Don’t be too harsh.

    He hit me so hard my eyes glazed over. Barely conscious, I gripped the hardwood countertop and managed not to fall.

    “Think!” A voice screamed at me in my head. “The knives are in the first drawer, you can take one out.”

    I tried to obey, but he was too quick for me. Another swing of his bat and I was out cold. Before I completely passed out, I wondered, irrelevantly, whether mother would give me a lollipop when I got better, just like when I was little girl.

    After that, nothing.

  12. Pingback: You and Your Friend « Rebecca Dudley – Collected Stories

    • Hi Rebecca – I recently tried a second person narration and botched it up because my narrator muscled her way into the story. In your piece I found myself wondering who is the narrator? The second person is consistent throughout which is great, but who is this character telling me the story? Why are they stalking this girl and her friend? I apologize if I’m missing something core. All the details rang true – exactly what two friends meeting up on a Friday would do and say. This is so light hearted and yet, there is a conflict in there at the end – alcohol glaze maybe the culprit or not? I enjoyed it!

      • Hi Brinda. Thanks for reading.
        I’ve always wanted to try writing something where the reader is the protagonist. To be honest, I hadn’t thought about the narrator, so you’re not missing anything at all. I was too busy thinking about the protagonist and their friend. Perhaps I should have included something about the narrator and also why their actions are being narrated.

        Thanks for your feedback.

  13. Pingback: Story: Lollipop Lady | beccaaudra

  14. Really enjoying the Wednesday Write In’s. Ever since it begun I’ve been staying up waaaaaay past my bedtime every Wednesday, making me very tired on Thursdays. A habit has formed and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to revert back to the normal pre-WWI days 😛

    • Oooohh NO! not the lollipop lady! How dare they take her!!!!!!

      What a great story becca. I laughed out loud when I read ‘She’s going to own these roads, show those cars whose boss’.

      I’m not sure about the sentence: You wake, and you’re still halting the stream of traffic, your hand tight on the sign’s stalk, flourishing your burden of safety.

      Seemed out of place because of the change of narrative from 3rd person to 2nd person.

      Overall I loved it!

    • Becca – what a great voice in the first paragraph, there was some switch in the second one – I feel like we should hear what lollipop lady felt when that hand pulled her in – no? I especially liked the musings when she recounts how she once wanted to be other big things, I loved her pride in what she does – loved the phrase ‘human bridge to safety’.

      • Kooool, thank you for the feedback. The ending is abrupt, I will revisit and explore what happens some point. I’m glad you like that line, it sums up the nostalgia of lollipop ladies I feel.

    • I really liked it, liked her voice except for the last line of the first para when she’s asleep and wanted to know who took her, what will it take to get her back or is it her husband whisking her off on a fab holiday?

      • Yeah, there’s a bit of a problem with the end of first paragraph that I need to look at. I like your musings about potential developments. My partner has some suggestions, lollipop lady/drug dealer, lollipop lady’s past comes back to haunt her…..

    • My favourite this week!!! I loved the surprise ending, I never expected it.
      A lollipop lady HAS to own the road! Love her xx
      Lovely wording, ‘human bridge’ and her image of being the ‘Goddess of Getting to School’, and how she calls herself a lollipop (not lollipop lady).
      Possibly needs a parag break before ‘kids ran across’…
      Go Becca!!! 🙂

      • Thank you Louise! Lovely comments. My kindles broken else I’d be downloading Girl meets Boys asap. Getting a new kindle soooon though.
        If I paragraph break it, then I can sort out the rewriting of that line, and expand it, so that’d work! Cheers, that lollipop was kind of accidental, missing the lady off, but it can stay then.

  15. Pingback: Story :: Liquorice root « a slice of imagination

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