A Banshee’s Tale

A cool Savannah breeze blew softly through the house, the lace Victorian draperies a semblance to a dancer whisking methodically across a ballroom floor. There was still a hint of humidity in the air, but it offered some relief from the scorching afternoon heat.

Damon sat at the table, drawing a picture of a beautiful lady. He was always considered by his teachers to be a savant or a prodigy of sorts with a rare talent for putting pencil to paper and yielding a flawless likeness to his subject. He loved to draw, sometimes to his detriment, spending nearly all of his time with a pencil in his hand and none of it with a baseball or a fishing pole…(more)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s