A Micro Graphic Novel Project |
Attending to the Hour |
By Gord Sellar |
http://www.gordsellar.com |
I wish it had gone the way they'd told me it would. |
It's not a glamorous life, out here, hacking down trees. Sometimes it feels as if they're whimpering. I would do another kind of work, if I could. |
But I don't know how well I would do it. I wish I hadn't come too late. Too late. Being too late, like angry words, cannot be taken back. The timber wolf grinning behind the door. It knew. |
I could see it in the thing's eyes, the sneering, the sureness of its victory. My axe took of its head. It took three chops. There was a little red cloak at the foot of the bed, that I found later, beside a ravaged bundle of food. I realized whose things they had been only days later, when I came back with my saw. It was then I realized that the girl had still been alive, when I'd first come. They hadn't lied to me; they'd just been... vague. |
So now, I wait and warm myself a little, sitting by my window. I am waiting for the hour, listening for their voices in the winter dark. They're not the only creatures that can hunt at night, under the silent moon. |
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