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Weekly Contest #49
The night was full and damp after the fresh brine that whisked itself across the city skyline. Damian stood hands burrowed deep within the folds of his father’s old black coat. He traced the small circular hole where the bullet had penetrated the ashy fabric. It was sometime before the fire, but after his Aunt Daisy went missing. Such a small hole tore the scab off such a large wound. Damian’s stomach began to turn as he watched the grey clouds pass from the safety of the covered bus stop. No bus was coming, and he knew that, but that w...
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