He walked purposefuly down the centre of the main street – glancing occasionally from side to side, looking out for anything unexpected on his morning journey.
It had been an uneventful night, without any of the usual nightmares, visions, words whispering in his mind, like the gossip of old women – harsh, cruel gossip that tore out your heart and roasted it over the coals.
Nothing moved out there on the streets – not a sound from the shops, flats, alleyways. The grey sky hung oppressively overhead, stifling his thoughts like a pillow wielded by a quiet assassin. Turning the corner, his eyes travelled down the road that led down to the bridge over the river, and off into the fields and mountains beyond the city. The sheer nothingness of it all took his breath away.
Where had all the stories gone?