fredag den 1. juli 2011


    Under sickly green moonlight, Michael walks the pier. The boards creak and groan under his feet, and he secretly wishes that they would snap underfoot, sending him down to join those who already dwell in water. They don't. So he won't.
    He pulls his coat tight to ward off the ever-present west wind that carries with it the tangy smell of salt, smoke and corpses. Once there were people here, but now there are not.
    The waves lap at the shore. A pale and water-bloated body of a young child with empty eye sockets bumps against the base of the pier.

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