Charlie said they were stars, the messy yellow blobs that he had painted on the bedroom ceiling. In actuality she thought they looked like large dots or splashes of paint, but she wouldn't say anything. When she had told him that she had wanted to see stars, Charlie had gotten right on it, buying a ladder and paint. He had spent a whole day locked in his bedroom, only coming out for a wine bottle around noon. Anything for his Lennie. He wanted to give her the moon, but he’d settle for giving her the stars.
Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project — published, submitted, in progress, for your cat — whatever.