Shawn McNeil
Stories (2)
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Snowy Cages
Wrought iron was rough and cold below his hand as he leaned his palm against the dark grey metal, his other hand was forcefully shoving his pant leg back below the straps of his boots in an attempt to keep out the chill that came with the flurry of snow above him. He’d lost his gloves somewhere in the vast snowfields stretching on for miles around him, leaving his fingers chilled and red. As he fixed his pants and wiped the snow from his jacket he couldn’t help but be thankful for the second pair of gloves his assistant had insisted he take.
By Shawn McNeil4 years ago in Fiction
Remembering The End:
Magnus doesn’t remember when the world ended some two hundred odd years ago. He’d been alive, sure, but he’d been too young to understand why the sky changing colors was important and too happy playing with blocks to care. He does remember some of what came after.
By Shawn McNeil5 years ago in Fiction
