• Fiction

    The Lone Walk

    (Photo courtesy of Genevieve Dallaire via Unsplash)

    The sand beneath my feet whirls away, sweeping me off in a sway. On the floor, I lay, as my grief is in bits, gradually fraying. I stifle a chill as the breezes go hay, the sun grows cold and gray, on a thick cloudy day in May with no hope and no sun rays.