Photo by Leiada Krozjhen on Unsplash
trickles into the
cracks between memories that
hold me together.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Jennifer Sara Widelitz and writers in Poets and other communities.
Harbinger of Despair
Who was he but just a man? To feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, he was no Atlas. Yet his bowed stance and tender neck suggested otherwise. It came to him in a dream: the absent stoking of an everlasting flame. A gnarled finger pointed towards an inevitable end, a sign that couldn't be ignorantly shaded; recurrence made sure of it. He didn't remember how long it had been going on; time didn't matter at this point. He just knew it was long enough to be petrified to fall asleep.
By James U. Rizzi5 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.