Hallowed Be Thy Train
When the biting and snarling cold of the air finally woke Pyotr, he found himself lying at the top of a mound of corpses, each frozen and blue, wrapped in their winter coats, all rumbling in unison as the room shook in time to the ‘ka-chunk, ka-chunk’ drumming steadily underneath. He was on a train. Even as his memory drew blanks, he could be sure of that.
- Runner-Up in Dads Are No Joke Challenge
PatienceRunner-Up in Dads Are No Joke Challenge
The grey morning sky trembled with a light drizzle, and I, at the ripe old age of nine, was surrounded by a host of frothing orcs who’d made the long march from Mordor to the backyard of my childhood home. I held aloft a silver war hammer, though to an onlooker with the dreary mind of an adult, it might have looked like a brand new Titleist 1-wood golf club.
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Then another. Then two more. The nearby lake was black and still, and the thick eucalypt forest that was wrapped tightly around it stirred in the hot night air as it watched the log cabin glow for the first time after a long sleep.