Give you a scratch, that will, whispers the old snake in his head. Rocks. Not worth the powder to blow ’em up. They all want the damn things, and will pay blood to get them, and they aren’t worth a soft breath coming out of a grand-daughter’s snotty little nose, sighing because she’s got a cold.
Ever been frightened you’d lose somebody?
So don’t tell me from rocks.
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As before, one minute writing, from a prompt at this website:
https://oneword.com/
The prompt: Diamond