Saturday, March 1, 2008

Magic

He is telling a story, but it is not his story; it is my story. He stands on the porch like it is his porch, like he owns it, but it is the porch I built. Our friends all notice the spark, the magic, when he walks by--it awakens them, flatters them--but they still don't know my name.


© 2008 J.L. Steinhoff

2 comments:

Thursday said...

I'm surprised how short this story looks printed. It sounded much bigger.

I'm glad AZ dragged me out. Your stories were really good.

J.L. Steinhoff said...

Thanks so much for reading--and for coming to the reading!