Sorrow Dogs
Till dawn found them dreaming
The riven dogs returned from the shattered fields, their coats crusted with the epithets of war...mud, blood and memory. They drooled in long ropes which dragged wet to the earth and curled together for a common warmth shivering with a thief greater than cold. Time past and a singular howl rose, pure and baleful. A keening of utter loss as if to extinguish himself entirely by sound.
Then the chorus of the pack enjoining in the loss of a world known only to them till dawn found them dreaming.
About the Creator
Kevin Rolly
Artist working in Los Angeles who creates images from photos, oil paint and gunpowder.
He is writing a novel about the suicide of his brother.
http://www.kevissimo.com/
FB: https://www.facebook.com/Kevissimo/
Keep reading
More stories from Kevin Rolly and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The News
Dark glass fell down like rain shattering against the stained bricks and then went silent. Shards glinting in the alley light that no one would see. Screams rang out from above, furtive and distraught like the last cries of the world. The sound of something ending.
By Kevin Rolly3 years ago in Fiction
Trouble at the Tea Leafing Café
The rain had started right around the time that Annie was buttering her second thick slice of homemade toast for breakfast, and hadn’t paused since. Not that anyone could tell. The windows of the café were fogged over, and with every seat filled with happy customers munching on fresh baked pastries or steaming bowls of the delicious soup of the day, it was hardly surprising. Annie looked around the room, finally taking a moment to breathe after the lunch time rush. Her old life already felt like a bad memory, a part of her history, always, but just that. History.
By Hannah Moore5 days ago in Fiction
A Night Painted with the Scars of Hate
Steam clouds emanate from the sewer grates like puffs of smoke spilling from the listless mouths that pass on the street. His nose turns away at the slightest hint of smoke; the smell clings to his clothes like children grasping for toys in displays. Opening the door to a discreet shop along the burgeoning street, he files inside to a world utterly alien to him. His eyes darted around the interior store with its neon signs advertising paraphilia in bright, abnormal colors. The walls must have been wrapped in leather dyed by the night sky. Corvids decorated the walls as if they were suddenly going to attack the puppies on leashes, or those meant to resemble them.
By Thomas Bryant7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Sad, yet beautifully written