Not Long

“Where are we going?”


Our feet drag through the muck like forks through soggy spaghetti. The air is so dark and thick with fog I can barely breathe. Squelch. Squelch. When I turn behind me I can still see the lights of the city as vague circles just above where I imagine the skyline to be. Another minute of stumbling silence and they’re gone. The marshland stretches on forever in all directions.

I’m shivering. “How far? How far now?”

“Not long, darling.”

You said that an hour ago. Or was that two? I shine my flashlight ahead of me, catching your white, mud-splattered ankles in its beam. “Not long now.”

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2 Responses to Not Long

  1. Brieuse Bernhard Piers-Gûdmönd says:

    Loved it. Thanks!

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