As you all know, I am a part of a group called the Pen of the Damned. This is a group of nine writers focused on dark topics, imagery, narrative, and more. Every Tuesday a new post is live to shrink your spine and delight you in dark ways. This weeks post is a delightful tale by Daemonwulf called “A Fouling Wind”.
Papa’s gone. And I’m alone. All over again.
As dusk is swallowed by night, I peer through the glass of the front door at a world that carries on without me. In the dirty, etched glass that serves as my window into the world I rarely enter, the reflection I’ve grown use to stares back at me. As the years have passed, I’ve come to realize the face is mine. But I know it’s not the one I was born with.
There’s a smell in the air. It frightens me…
Outside, tall oak trees cast long shadows across the road that snakes past our home — sharp fingers scraping the pavement, desperate to crawl away from the setting sun. Their branches are engaged in an ages old battle, pummeled by the invisible fists of a foul-smelling wind. Between the rustle of leaves, I hear the roar of the metropolis that lives around me. It must now stretch for miles beyond our neighborhood – a secluded enclave reserved for the city’s elite. We were once the families of the ruling class – the wealthy, the industrialists, and ‘the ones with the most to lose,’ as Papa would often say.
Read the full post here.