Nathan Pinnock

Sweet rich dreams

The blade, oblique to his body, impaled the weak ground beneath. As his breathing got heavier, he smiled. He knew. A drop travelled down the illusive expression on his face parting ways with it as it broke free to be absorbed by the awaiting earth. Silence. The eerie silence was something to memorable it had become almost innate to him that he basked in it. The crescent night but he one script with great strength was all that allowed him to stay standing, at the mercy of what can only be described as death in a physical form. It was far from over…