The Pale Meridian

added blog Literature

2026-08-25 09:43:37 -

The Pale Meridian

The fog at the crossing did not lift. It hung low over the water, a thick, white shroud that smelled of wet stone and decay. I stood on the bank, my boots sinking into the mud, watching the river eat the world. My name is Thomas Hale. I am thirty-four years old, and for the last six weeks, I have been a ghost in my own life. The town of Millhaven calls me a drunk. They say I see things that are...

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