Darker Than The Fog


The damp fog refused to burn away, eating up their street until the suburb became still and their house an island. This was no tropical paradise, however, but a bleak craggy isle buffeted by waves. Fog or no, the island home had its own issues, and marital discord and strife made for an unpleasant existence. I say existence, as it was no life. Living always on a knife-edge, perpetually walking on proverbial eggshells, had taken its toll. Now with the creeping fog making escape from the island home difficult, it would only be a matter of time until the damp of the surrounding fog would be the least of their problems.

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Padre

First Line Friday

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