The rain would spoil the woods, so he wrapped the coffin in a blanket and carried it in the storm. The wind is howling through the naked trees of the woods, blowing the hood off his head. The wet soil is falling on the veiled coffin, staining the blanket with the brown, heavy boulders, as his foot pressed heavily on the screed, continuing to throw soil in the hole.
"This should do it" he mutters, wiping his face with the wet sleeve. "Let's go before they come back"
YOU ARE READING
Hunting the flame
Mystery / ThrillerWho would have thought the woods can ever hide something like that? The beginning of an end. A love story. Another reality. What is the key to ending it all?
