Death In the Wind
I smell decay in the air. Stagnant. Sticky. It curls its wrinkled boney finger towards
me telling me it will be back. Tick tock. Tick tock. The wind blows my hair away from
my face and my soul away from my body. And then the wind stops, giving me my
soul back just long enough for it to start blowing again and carry it away one final
time.
Copyright © Heather Miles | Year Posted 2011
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