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Weekly Contest #328
There was the ghost of an old Viking in the garden when I was a child. He'd stared down at me with large, unseeing eyes, and I'd simply stared back. Only my eyes saw much. He'd lingered for a while, back when a couple of hours cast the illusion of eternity, but when I grew up, time moved all too swiftly. Yet for the time, when I was a child, there was a Viking in the garden. An axe hung almost limply from a bloodied hand when he didn't seem to be bleeding. But he must have done, he was dead, after all. Whispy and willowed strands matted abou...
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