Small Realities

Inside the mind of Lance Schonberg

Thorvald’s Wyrd 120

Warm air on his face.  Thorvald tried to open his eyes but frozen breath sealed them.  His hands refused commands to pry eyelids apart and so the world remained in darkness.

“You must move or you will die.”

Death might be welcome for the warmth the pyre would bring to his bones.

“Come back, Saviour.”

Saviour.  He’d won.  Icewind lay dead.  Realization dripped into the thoughts.  “Sunna?”

A spring breeze.  “Rise.  Rise and walk again.”

Thorvald sucked in air, held it until his lungs ached, squeezed his eyes to crack them open, and looked into the face of the sun.

NextPreviousFirstIndex
Advertisements

Single Post Navigation

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: