The boy’s coat hung in shreds, wretched, knees visible under threadbare trousers, bruises darkening hollow cheeks. Golden hair, just like my son’s. To point right meant death. Jurgen paused. He swallowed, pointed left. *Note: This 33 word story was written for Trifecta’s Week Sixteen Writing Challenge. © Scriptor Obscura and Scriptor Obscura Writes, 2011-2012. All Rights [...]
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