The Golden Visit
The dream was of honey. Thick, golden, endless. It filled the cellar. It filled the streets. It filled the lungs of the dead. Walter woke with the taste of it on his tongue. Sweetness. Cloying. Wrong. He sat up in the straw. The room was dark. The moon was a sliver of bone in the sky. He was old. His hands shook. They always shook now. The pain in his joints was a familiar visitor. It knocked...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen