2st SHORT STORY: "The Chest"
The cold, made his
bones grind. He was forced to hold his hood with his hand, because the air was
too strong. In front of him, he could see the towering walls of the city. It would
be truly impossible to get in, without some help. He whistled once more as hard
as he could, because the strength of the air almost nullified every sound. Time
was passing and there was no movement. It would be a shame, his journey to be
in vain. All that time on the road. All that effort and trouble. A life’s dream,
at the edge of completion.
At first, he
thought he was wrong, but then, slowly, the dim light he had distinguished for
a single moment, took the form of a torch...
by ©James Antoniou 2018
