Donna sat there on that log with the guitar in her hands, but her hands frozen. Her face was similarly frozen, her eyes gazing wide into the field yellow in the sunlight.

She couldn’t ‘splain it, but she was familiar with it. She despised it with a frenzy, which only made it worse.


What she did know was that her musical chemicals were out o’ whack, causing her to be unable to devise the luscious compositions she was able to just days ago. In fact, she was so artistically stinted that she couldn’t e’en understand how she e’er came to create those compositions she did make in better days, staring @ them in her soggier times as a futile way to stir her creativity.

So she could only sit there shivering violently in the shade, desperate to do something, but unable.

O well.


Donna, Guitar, Humor.