Slip

A story of a woman in the weak hours

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Down, like battlements. Down like rain, dirt toppled. It groped with lonesome hands.

Hushed.

Hushed and down the earth reclaimed its place of silent rest. Displaced in homes of earthworms – and of root tips. Scraped up rocks retreated under siege, resuming shrouds of solace in the darkness.

Darkness.

The world that she once feared now yawned its gate across her path, and pushed her through. Pushed into a place of solace in the darkness. It groped with lonely hands.

She turned.

Turned and walked across the cornfield, back into the farmhouse, up the astonished stairs. With curtains she shuttered the grave from sight. But thoughts of him helped polish the floor, helped polish the nightstand, helped polish the sudden stains that had erupted in the night.

By Zach Edson

From: United States

Website: http://www.farawaywriting.com

Instagram: farawaywriting

Twitter: EdsonZach