Judy King Sylvester
Bio
I've always been a writer. I process life through the creation of words on the page. Sometimes I write other people's stories and sometimes my own. Being empathic makes that possible. But, funneling the pain is excruciating.
Stories (1)
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She Stood Still
It was the last day. The immortal sun slowly rising above the horizon. Flat. There were no rolling hills or cracks of mountain splendor rising from the earth. Not in this wasteland. There were a few trees rooted in rank soil, leafless and dying. And that blazing blurry zone just above the line where soil meets air. Dreamy and blurry. Or it was just her weakened eyes struggling to take in light after a night so dark. Last night had been without stars. A simple void. It was more than surreal. It was nothingness. And in that nothingness, her companion had mis-stepped. In that one slight there was an unforgiving sound of blade striking bone. The sound that came after that was haunting as it hung in a brief whisper of seconds and then just “thunk.”
By Judy King Sylvester5 years ago in Futurism
