Sunday, March 8, 2015

The Intruder

His cigar smelled like a decayed riverbank. A contradiction to the aromas surrounding the ethereal lake, its water reflecting the flora lining the shore. This was my safe place, the place where I could avoid his fists. But not today. He stood, faced me, coughed. An alarm told me to run. Instead, I waited. Hopeful.

Prompt words: riverbank, decay, cigar, ethereal, alarm

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