The Faded River
The boiler hums. It is a low, guttural sound. It lives in the walls. It breathes through the pipes. I sit in the dark. The chair is old. Wood. Cold. My hands are still. They rest on my knees. I am the keeper. I am the watchman. I have been here for forty years. The house stands alone. It is a stone beast. It crouches by the black water. The river is silent. The river is watching. The air is...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior