A slip of flash fiction, 58-style
In Shadows
He stands bare to the waist and barefoot in the dewy grass of a park in pitch-blackness. Driven here by the incessant pounding of blood in his ears, the storm, a fury in his heart.
Bring on the night and there is no reset, no slumber. Just seething.
It’s been like that for weeks, since the accident.
He stands bare to the waist and barefoot in the dewy grass of a park in pitch-blackness. Driven here by the incessant pounding of blood in his ears, the storm, a fury in his heart.
Bring on the night and there is no reset, no slumber. Just seething.
It’s been like that for weeks, since the accident.
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