She often wondered where to wander. She usually had a choice of urban or rural landscape, depending on the weather or mood.
The path ahead has never been seen through rose-coloured glasses. The thorns of her life had clashed with thorns on a dirt road, and a heart broken too many times could not easily discern the feelings hidden deep in the hearts of others.
Nevertheless, she did her best, non-judgmentally paving the way for understanding without humiliation, recognition without criticism. It was her way of dealing with it all and it really made her thrive.
About the Creator
Moon Desert
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
Where the wild roses grow full of words...
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More stories from Moon Desert and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Red Footprints
Talking letters from the past covered his skin. They left red marks in the post-war world. The ancient armchair he sat in, the familiar hometown streets he walked, the grandchildren's ears wide open as he tossed stories like German bombs. Reached by the sleeves and held close forever in his memory.
By Moon Desert3 years ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker of Whispering Sands
In the heart of the Gilded Desert lay the city of Orizon, a place of shimmering heat and relentless mechanics. In Orizon, the sun never truly set; it hung like a heavy brass coin in the sky, illuminating a civilization obsessed with the passage of seconds. Here, time was not an abstract concept or a natural flow. It was a physical currency—shimmering, chronological sand carried in glass vials.
By Md. Rejaul Karimabout 19 hours ago in Fiction
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