The Golden Farce
The bell tolls at dusk. It is a deep, metallic sound. It vibrates in your teeth. You are on the road. The gravel is loose beneath your boots. You walk with a limp. It is old. It is yours. You carry a satchel. It is heavy. Inside, there is bread. It is stale. Inside, there is water. It is cold. Inside, there is a flask. It is empty. You are a soldier. You served. The war is over. The medals are...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen