Thought I'd share -
The twisted sagebrush clumped together, hard and unyielding. There is no comfort, warmth or welcome, only
a man who stands alone. The wind pulls
at his hair, his clothes, yet he stands unmoved and stares.
Will she come?
She has to, he will be broken otherwise.
Storm clouds rumble in the distance, he waits. Nothing
but the smell of rain reaches him. No color, bright flower or inviting thing breaks the scene before him, only gray . He searches every detail of the horizon, hoping, praying to catch movement of her approach. The wind howls across the land with nothing to break
its relentless energy.
Still he stands. Still he waits.
It reminds me of Tom in your book. Like he's waiting for leddie. It was captivating to read. You are a painter and your words are your paint. With these you become a master in the art.
ReplyDeleteCongrats, you have just wrote a flash fiction :) I love flash fiction and this is pretty sweet, Beckie. (Also the Last of the Mohicans soundtrack is great)
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