Rooftops

Crooked crosses marked graves, bursting from the heads of coffins. Bugs scurried through the cracked wood, rising to the sun-baked grass. Clouds froze overhead in a lifeless sky, while spectral souls climbed from their holes. The daylight ghosts knocked against the locked gate, but none could pass the twisted metal. Instead they watched down from the rooftop.

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1 comment so far

  1. Michelle Johnson on

    Love your writing, as always. Hope all is well.


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