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Weekly Contest #96
(Warning: May be graphic.)From my window, I catch the glimpse of a shadow, on his knees, crawling on the shore from his paddleboat. He inaudibly retches on the sand, gets on his feet, and stands in one place, not moving, the gentle wind moving his cloak in the air.No, he is not a shadow, but merely a darkly cloakedman. We have not had a living soul enter this town, not in a while. A while? Along time, it seems. Long enough to be a fable; a myth of a story ourgrandparents told us, from their grandparent’s time—a time long ago, a time noteven ...
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