Microfiction: Wobbly

Along the rim, they walked, and Charles became worried about his stability. His feet were not working well, and not landing well, and not going in the exact way he would have wanted them to do so.

Sasha walked alongside him and did not seem to notice his little stutters of motion. She simply handed him another drink, something she brought with her, and he took a sip of it. It wasn’t alcohol; it tasted like water. Continue reading