© Neil Hayes and neilhayeswrites
One foot after another. He appeared somehow lost, but kept shuffling along. He wasn’t leaving footsteps behind him in the snow, more like drag marks where his feet slid along in the snow. It was falling fast now, night had descended and the snow was halfway up his shins.
Continue reading “Tracks, a short story: Part 5”
I recoil from the tree, withdrawing my hand, and my breath begins to shorten. Now, I wish that I was back underground. At least there seemed less possibility of a heart attack there.
I don’t know where to go, what to do. The birds are still circling above the track, they didn’t follow me into the trees. Why?
Continue reading “Tracks, a short story: Part 4”
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