It drifts through the dark, a chill wisp of mist on cold night air. Slowly writhing across the river; a dark contrivance wreathing here and there. Silhouetted against misted window panes. Stealthily, a shadow under a rare blue moon. Passed locked doors, seeking entry through cracks and flaws--the memory, I must not allow in.Have a wonderful Friday everyone. It's past midnight and I have just finished work, I need sleep. I will catch up with with your 55's later, on Friday.
If you've written 55 words, no more no less, drop
in on G-Man, leave a comment and he will pay you a visit.