The huge iron bell in the clock tower struck 12, it's melancholy resonance bouncing from wall to wall, building to building. Empty. That's what the town was. Empty, and seemingly seperated from all reality. A single man sat in silence, watching the dark clouds roll in, his clothes tattered and torn. The last one, he had hidden when the soldiers came. So long ago. One day, they had come, sweeping through the town like a virus infecting a brain, and the next day they were gone, never to be seen again. No one had survived. The old man in the tower had buried so many...so many. He closed his eyes. He could simply lean over and drop, hundreds of feet to the ground below. It would be over, nobody would see. There was nobody. But it wasn't worth it. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered. So he sat, and waited for the chilling rain to fall on the little dead town.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Random Tidbits of Writing
SonstigesYou heard it. Random. Things I've come up with at 2 AM while hunched over a laptop or notebook in the dim glow of the Christmas lights that reside over my bed. I'll be randomly adding to it. Enjoy.
