Microfiction: Hide

The cracks let in the wind. A howling wind. Moving there, touching a hair, a face, a piece of cloth. A taste on it, of gunpowder and ash. Of the ending of the world.

Terry kept his hand on the handle, though if it went, it would not stop from going by his grip. Haley clutched a collection of towels and buttons that made a bear. Continue reading

Advertisements