The Distant Blade
The soup was cold. Elias stirred it. The spoon scraped the bottom of the clay pot. It made a sound like a bone breaking. He looked at the bowl. Then he looked at the door. Margaret was not there. She was never there in the morning. She was in the field. Or in the church. Or in the dark places of the town that he could not name. He ate the soup. It tasted of ash. It tasted of the iron in the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews