The Pale Circus
The rain hit the tin roof. It sounded like static. Like the end of the world. Elias sat in the dark. He held his rifle. The wood was cold. His hands were not. They burned. A low hum filled the room. It came from the walls. It came from the floor. It was the house breathing. He looked at the mirror. His face was there. Older. Tired. The uniform was clean. It was white. It was wrong. It looked...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews