Growth and Decay
A Short Story
I’ve been procrastinating with this story for a while now. It’s been an unwritten, unfinished ramble in my notebooks. I kept finding reasons not to write and I realized recently that I hold stories so close to my chest that I cannot see them clearly. It’s practically a cliche but I’m afraid of letting them go. I’m afraid of being able to breathe.
It’s very much a first draft but a finished first draft. Any thoughts on where it can be tightened or cut or improved would be appreciated.
There is a human nearby. He is pale skinned and his clothes are tattered. He has flax lashed to his feet but those too are worn thin. His name is Tim. He has been walking for a long time and he is thirsty, his throat is dry and his lips are parched. The sun is relentless. There is no shade. There are no clouds. He just wants to lie down, curl up and rest. He stumbles forward, thinking how soft the dirt would be, how good it would feel to just collapse.
The creatures sense the human. They sniff the air. They too are thirsty and seeking shade. The ground cracks under the heat. They have his scent and decide to follow. The flatlands slowly rise and beyond there is grass and the first shimmering shapes that could be trees. The human stumbles closer.
