Sunday, May 6, 2012

The Salesman - 4 Lines Of Prose - DWP From 5-4-12

He arrived in the dark of night, the snow crunching beneath his feet as he made his way down the narrow lane of deserted shops and sleepy little cottage houses. Awake at this late hour I watched his passing from the attic window, and was intrigued to see him stop in front of the abandoned book store.

He turned into the doorway and stood, feeling around for the metal handle, his frame taking up every inch of the space between the jam. "DRATS! LOCKED! His snake like voiced hissed the words into the night air.

A soft blue light emanated from Milo Macabre left hand illuminating his pasty white skin and sparkling sapphire eyes for mere moments before I heard the gentle click of the lock and the door swung inward. The book seller had returned.


More on this at another time.

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