WHEN THE MAN COMES TO TOWN: By Graeme Reynolds
Tuesday, July 28th, 2009The gravel under the man’s feet crunched as he walked, throwing up small clouds of dust that covered his worn brown leather boots. The sun was rising on the eastern horizon, slowly edging its way above the mountain peaks, its light flowing across the open fields like liquid gold, chasing the last remaining shadows of the night before it and banishing the lingering chill of pre-dawn that hung in the air.
The gravel road gave way to the highway, stretching out before him like a river of black tar, bisecting the green pastures and fields of golden wheat that moved in waves to the breeze. A faded road sign read “Salvation, 30 miles”.
The man smiled to himself and pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes to shield them from the savage brilliance of the new day. He should be there by nightfall.
The heat was increasing now as the sun came into full view, but the man did not remove the long heavy coat that he wore, nor did he even seem to notice the temperature. He carried on, along the road, his long striding steps taking him ever closer to the next town.
An explosion of movement came from a nearby field as a flock of black crows took to wing, flying along the road, past the man – towards the pillars of smoke that marked the location of the last town he had visited. As they passed him, he tipped his hat towards the crows. They would eat well once they arrived at the burning ruins of the town, as they would likely feast well upon the townsfolk of Salvation tomorrow morning.
Whistling to himself, and with a spring in his step, he continued on his journey.
©2009 Graeme Reynolds
Graeme Reynolds is a 38 year old software tester and horror author. You can read his work on his homepage http://www.graemereynolds.com
