where the writers are

Gwen Morrison's Writings

Short Story
She paused, gazing without expression at the smouldering, unfiltered cigarette she held between her fingers. “You know, the thing about love is that it always seems to end badly,” she said. She bent over him, covering his lifeless body with the thin blanket she found in the closet. She looked around the room. What a place for this to end. The motel room they...