The Faded Portrait

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 05:21:22 -

The rain hit the pavement in hard, gray sheets. It did not stop. Inside the station, the air was stale. It smelled of wet wool and old coffee. Silas Vance stood by the window. He watched the street. His hands shook. He tried to stop them. They did not listen. He was fifty-five. He looked eighty. The uniform hung loose on his frame. It had once fit tight. Now it swayed with him like a shroud....

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews