The squirrel rushed to the other side of the tree along a branch far from Peter as he grouched his way down the path. There was no need for all this grumbling, but being thankful he could even walk seemed like a waste of time since he had no trouble walking.
The sunrise was peaceful. The sea was calm, but he was entertaining enough demonic influences to have a whole Halloween party by himself.
Eventually – unless the slippery slope had its way – Peter would tell those demons where to go, but he did so much enjoy a whiny fit of righteousness. Like the other inanities he entertained they came to spoil the day under the pretense they were making it better.
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Denise offers the prompt word “branch” to be used in this week’s Six Sentence Stories.
Poetry, Short Prose and Walking 