Shelby tore the coarse fabric from the end of the dress where it had dragged in chalky mud. Of course the dress was already ruined; her fuming mind thought only that if she could possibly save any part of the dress she could mend it, or sew the rescued piece as a patch, or make it a doll’s dress. Only as she tore she noticed splotched into the burgundy of the dress was the red of dried blood, caked in among the crusted dirt and smell of fish.

hey, what is this post?

Lately I’ve used a random word generator to come up with a verb that tickles me and use it to inspire some quick fiction writing. enjoy this paragraph based on the verb “rip”!

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