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flash fiction

Dameon's picture

The Change

I've always wanted to turn this into a longer story. Maybe I will someday.


Marthen ran through the darkness of the nighttime forest, the wind cold on his naked skin, the earth soft beneath his feet. A tree branch occasionally slapped his face stingingly, although he hardly noticed it. His bare feet hurt from stepping on sharp sticks and tripping over roots, and he felt a sharp, burning pain as he stepped on a large piece of broken glass. From somewhere above, a full moon lit his way, filtered through many branches.