28 Stories


A wool blanket was my sanctuary. It was scratchy and had a satin edge that had frayed over the years of use, years before my time. Soft pink in colour and thick as a pinkie finger, this blanket hosted picnics and sleepovers, was slept on and cried on, rolled down hills in, spread in the sunshine, and dragged to all corners of my fair province.

There is nothing as comforting as a blanket.


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