Tag Archives: Quail
Hunting Season
We watch each other in this sanctuary, this quail and I, prisoners of lives into which we were born. The bird is free to fly away, to go where he pleases. But he has surely heard the gun fire, watched … Continue reading
Posted in fictioneers, Flash Fiction
Tagged Flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Quail, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, Tent Cities
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