The Pale Bridge

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 10:50:41 -

The Pale Bridge

The rain fell in sheets of iron. It hammered the cobblestones of Millhaven, turning the street into a churning brown river. I stood in the center of it, my coat soaked through, my boots heavy with mud. The whistle of the factory sirens wailed in the distance, a sharp, piercing cry that cut through the downpour. I did not run. I did not hide. I waited for the shadow to come. My name is Silas...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews