When the West with Evening Glows
Under every step the snow creaks. You tread slowly, so as not to disturb the birds in the trees. The sky is darkening, only a streak of blood remaining on the horizon. The air is still. You pause for a moment, listening. Faintly, from beyond the hillside, comes the sound of horses’ hooves, moving methodically. Driven.
A trio of crows descends, wings beating. They gather in the footsteps before you, foraging for food. You pull your coat tighter around you. Reaching down, you scoop up a handful of snow and push it inside your mouth, smearing it over your cracked lips. Your teeth cry out at the cold, but you withstand the pain, embrace it, feeling somehow that it will steel you for what lies ahead.
Jack Fisher lives in Manchester with his partner and a cat named Lester. He (Jack, not the cat) writes short stories, and has recently completed a novel. He has had work published in Bunbury, Storgy, Spelk Fiction, Avis, Youth Imagination and The Short Story. You can find more about him at jackfisher.org.uk.
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