The Distant Journey
The rain hit the window. It was cold. It was wet. I held the watch. It was old. It was brass. It was mine. My hands shook. They always shook now. The room was small. The walls were bare. The air was stale. I sat in the chair. I looked at the door. I waited. The watch ticked. It was a soft sound. It was a thin sound. It was a sound that cut the air. I had found it in the drawer. It was hidden...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews