By Eve Hitchens
The sky mirrors the fires burning along the street: a melted copper orange.
The elders have told me of a time when sunsets were simply seen as a beautiful signal of the evening’s descent. However, no time should be spent admiring the sunset now. That would be foolish—the Masked will have time to find you. Now we use the sky only as a warning to get off the streets, into our cramped dwellings. The evening is their time.
But I can’t bear to hide any longer.
Now I wait.
I’ll enjoy the burning sky, and ignore the footsteps behind me.
I love when writers are able to do suspense and scary in 101 words. This is an excellent story. Loved it!
Eerily good.
Nicely done. Not a single unnecessary word.
Great story of the ever present struggle.