I was six when they came, long fingers and stringy hair, voices like whispers on the wind. We could feel their empty eyes follow us at night walking home through the village, and slowly, all the people who lived in the village before turned, changed or went away, until it was just me and my mom left. Even now, I can hear them whisper, whisper, whisper behind the walls and windows pulled shut. It is not long now until we are gone too.
--------------
I am not participating in NaNoWriMo this year, but will be trying a short writing every day, following the prompts from https://www.patreon.com/thequietsun
No comments:
Post a Comment