It’s Friday! Here’s the scoop on #CleanWIP Relaxed Fridays.
Where was Austin? She’d seen him leave a minute ago.
Something stirred inside the church bus. Jenny flattened her back against the metal building and inched closer for a better look. Her heart hitched when through the open bus door she spied Austin through the open door of the mission bus, kneeling before the strongbox. He reached into it, scooped up a stack of bills from the mission fund and counted them. He returned some of the money to the box, stuffing a larger roll into his shirt pocket. The metal lid slammed shut. Jenny fled back inside the the shelter, tears streaming, and her heart pounding against her ribcage.
Tears streamed down her face. The man she loved was a thief!
There’s no #CleanWIP theme on Fridays, but we still publish a fun collaboration. Use the hashtag to share INTERESTING teases from a WIP or published work (book links encouraged on Fridays) or share something else CLEAN you feel our readers will love. [https://t.co/iCuPzhtLNK] pic.twitter.com/pf0c33AcDF— CleanWIP Magazine (@cleanwip) December 13, 2019
Our hearts can fill us with joy or terror, with hope or hopelessness, with courage or fear. The human heart must be tended, shepherded, coaxed, encouraged, and uplifted. This is a constant challenge. https://t.co/vOj8nFqBMZ via @MelindaVInman pic.twitter.com/OdSa3bzjfs— Melinda V Inman (@MelindaVInman) December 13, 2019
And yet, he kept coming, just to see it–the gravestone his daddy had sold one of his horses to buy–just to read the name “Fred Finley, Jr.” and wonder about life and death, and why things happened the way they did. #CleanWIP— Jessica Marie Holt — Author (@Jessica06311722) December 13, 2019
Why must the clouds be so dark? Why must the times of life be so dreary in the winter? December of 1944 and it shouldn’t be so depressing; but it snowed. Roscoe the neighbor’s dog slinked past my window, seeking a sign of hope. I was much like Roscoe; I had no hope. #CleanWip— John Wilde (@WriterJohnWilde) December 14, 2019
Let’s drop in on Will and Domo. (This time we’re visiting William Bradshaw and Fool’s Gold.)
“This is a new level of weirdness even for you, Will,” Domo said.
“I’m just gardening,” he replied. “Why does everybody act like I’m biting the heads off dolls?”
“That’s something the guys would accept, even appreciate. This just plain doesn’t make sense. Why are you growing food when you get it for free?”
Will leaned the hoe against the fence and wiped sweat off his brow. “I thought it would be a nice gesture to the innkeeper.”
“I don’t follow you.”
Will pulled his king contract out from his pocket. “My contract lets me eat free anywhere I go, but I always go to the same inn since it’s the only place nearby. The innkeeper feeds me three free meals a day, and it’s got to be costing him a bundle. It won’t be so hard on him if I grow some of my own food.”
Domo stared at him. “Is this that ‘fairness’ thing you keep going on about?”
“What’s wrong with thinking about other people?”
Domo pointed his walking stick at Will. “You were taken off your world and tricked into being our King. You don’t get paid. Three quarters of the planet’s population hates you. You’ve almost been killed dozens of times. What’s fair about that?”
“Nothing,” Will said. “But just because other people aren’t fair to me doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be fair to other people.”