Photo by Samuel Ferrara on Unsplash
Oh, to be wise like
the glorious mountain range.
Timeless. Present. Still.
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More stories from Shauntelle Small and writers in Poets and other communities.
Just Sixty Seconds
Oliver sat at a cold, grey steel-covered table. He knew he was next. The longer he sat here, the more confident he knew he wouldn’t make it. His hands were tied to the chair he was sitting on, pushed up against the steel table. A small camera in the corner of the ceiling with a tiny red flashing light was the only thing he was focused on. He felt sick to the stomach. He knew he didn’t have long.
By Joshua Maggs4 days ago in Fiction
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