We are lying on the ground, face down, in the dirt. The filth covers our wounds; our blood is a clot in our veins. We cannot stop coughing. Death came for a visit, but it did not linger. We have accepted the horror; our reality is vanishing in the night.
David W. Jones Creative Writing 1 Minute
Published by David W. Jones
David is a writer and blogger who enjoys creating literary expressions about everyday life. He is a published poet and currently doing reviews, creative writing, and storytelling. David's interests include narrating point-of-view scenarios, documenting non-fiction, and writing scripts for film and television. View all posts by David W. Jones