Any Port for the Coming Storm

Ahfl_icon Author: THX 0477 Dr. Tim's Neurotic Rules of Ficly Life [Disclaimer: This is not intended to be binding nor in any way an expectation of general members of Ficly, league members, family members or wearers of Member's Only jackets] ... Read Bio

The dark, drafty old house was lopsided and decrepit, leaning in on itself, the way an aging possum carrying a very heavy, overcooked drumstick in his mouth might list to one side if he were also favoring a torn Achilles tendon, assuming possums have them. Comparisons to ailing rodentia aside I was happy to see the place.

The gate creaked a weary hello and seemed to say something of the comforts of being not just home but “down home”. As a crowd lauding and laureling a returning hero the weeds gave my legs a hundred hugs hello leaving their gifts of briars and dandelion fluff. Jilted lover cast in oak, the door resisted my advances, but I found the key in time.

Surely this could once again be my refuge from a coming storm. I coughed then laughed my way through the cobwebs, mocking myself for having such vain hope. Darke County never was known for refuges or hope, not in my lifetime. Full of holes and even more full of memories, the crumbling edifice would simply have to do.

As would I.

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Comments (1 so far!)

  1. Avatar JonB

    Jilted lover cast in oak, the door resisted my advances – wonderfully over-the-top, but beautifully written and the whole thing very faithful to the seed sentence. And yet you manage to pull an intriguing story out of it as well, with a good solid hook at the end. I shall file this away in my list of stories that I must sequel at some hazy point in the future when I find myself with infinite time.

    An excellent effort.

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