She looked at me earnestly, taking in my messy appearance. I was covered head to toe in rain, sweat, and blood that day. Would she speak? But she voiced nothing, just beckoned me forward with a thin hand. In her other was a large scythe, the blade gleaming wickedly in the dark pale moonlight. She was my teacher and I was her student. It wasn't her place to question me as it wasn't mine to question her. So we walked ahead into the dark cave, silent as we had always been.
For The Passing Reader
By RandomUser123470
Just a some flash fiction. A collection of short stories I guess. My profile did look a bit bare... More