The following very short story is connected to a short story I wrote in November 2016, a month before losing a chunk of my vision...
He stands alone on the edge of the world. He had traveled through the fog, losing more than his companion along the way. Externally battered and bruised from the journey, he collapses onto the barren ground. Internally drained of hope and desire, he whispers into the emptiness surrounding him.
The question drifts through the hollow air, fading away into nothing.
Thank you for reading or listening to my half-blind words.
P.S. A different very short story...
A Post-Modern Gothic Romance...
*by some Americans & a few Europeans
**compared to my other titles