Roy was a fish.
I say was, because Roy is dead.
Roy is a dead fish.
This isn’t gonna be some sad story about some cute little fish, fighting in the big bad ocean and trying to overcome the odds while meeting new friends and learning life lessons along the way. Roy wasn’t Nemo. This isn’t Pixar. And most coral reefs aren’t friendly places. Continue reading “The Life of Roy”
Part 1, “The Wolf”
Soft light from the morning sun caresses the tree tops, urging their budding leaves to bloom. Below the canopy, the forest remains shrouded in a pre-dawn twilight. Frost sprinkles the loamy, moss-covered ground, and small critters are just beginning to scurry about. A cold breeze blows between the tree trunks, sending loose leaves on slalom courses through wooden gates, and causing the entire forest to shiver in the brisk morning. Birds flutter about, catching the air currents, chirping happily to warm their bodies.
The gentle gust brings life to the morning and rejuvenates the embers of a dying fire, a waning source of heat on the chilly earthen floor. The fire’s maker sleeps beside the charred kindling in a meager tent. The tarp is heavily aged and hastily patched with animal skins and crude stitching. It is barely big enough to lay in, but sufficient shelter nonetheless. Continue reading “The Man”
Soft light from the morning sun bathes the crest of a lone grassy knoll. An island amidst a sprawling deciduous forest, Its bed of wild weed and grass color the hill a distinct amber-yellow, contrasting it with the spring greens of newly budding life. Below, a gentle breeze playfully rustles the few leaves that have sprouted and makes the great wooden pillars of the forest creak and groan. Their branches, as stiff as bones, have been slow to wake from winter’s slumber.
The cold season had been long and bitter, relentlessly nipping at what few creatures clung to life, sapping away their fortitude. The trees were saved by their hibernation; and though they are slow to return to their lustrous colors, most of them have escaped death’s frosty fingers. Most animals, however, have not been so lucky. Continue reading “The Wolf”