The Faded Dust
You wake with the taste of iron and ash on your tongue, a metallic tang that coats the roof of your mouth like a secret you are too afraid to speak. The air in the wagon is thick, stagnant, smelling of damp wool and the slow, rotting sweetness of the apples you have been eating for three days. Outside, the gray sky of the Pennsylvania mountains presses down, indifferent to your presence,...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen