Alone on this damp lawn, my face numb with memory, I nibble my tongue till it aches. Crickets chirp, and a flock of birds spreads its wings. The chill of dusk looms, but these pink horizons keep me warm now that I embrace them back. This is, I hope, enough.
An editor residing in Pennsylvania, Andrew enjoys writing and reading fiction of all lengths, and his works have been published in The Mercury, in the Pennsylvania Emerging Writers series, and previously by 50-Word Stories.