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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2020
Submitted to Contest #60
The warmth of the day lingered like a dead stench. The air is still, and the land reaches for the clouds that only gave acidic tears in a desperate cry for rain. In a different time this day would be July. but the old world names no longer mattered, there are no animals left to care. The air is like soup, heavy and burning as it falls in the lungs of the grubs that litter the ground. In a forest that forgot its name lays the last of a fundamental part of the hunt. a lone predator and its final excuse for prey. In this nameless wilderness the...
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