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Mastodon

The sight of it somehow made the chilly air sharper — more biting. As she stood there, she began to notice the damp seeping in through the soles of her shoes. The ground beneath her feet was soft from the rain, the scent of wet earth clinging to the air, reminding her of how things eventually rot and return to the soil. But not this. Not the past. Not the key.

The Echo From the Vault
396
3

Dale Kaye

Arpad Nagy
Arpad Nagy

Written by Arpad Nagy

3.5K Followers
547 Following

Shortlisted for 2024 Northwind Writing Award in NF/Fiction. New owner of First Line Fiction. Editor @ The Memoirist, AoE, Book Cafe, Short Place, Kitchen Tales.

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