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Knight of the Heart (knightsheart)

Poetry, Short stories, Blog, Titan

Trees closed around the house on the hill protecting it from the sunlight.  The hairs on the back of my neck straightened in apprehension. Behind me, my grand children, grim faced waiting with the urn.

Upstair’s windows shined as I approached. He always hid behind the reflection. I know where to step so there is no betraying creak of porch wood. I pumped the pump for good luck. The water is cool, good with a hint of sulfur.  That’s hell’s smell, Boy. Mend your ways he would say.                 

Welcome home, Boy, he said as my urn broke on the porch.

Copyright by Sean Vessey 2011. Written for Saturday Centus76

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