short story

November

November - Ben A Albon

The living dead walk among us.
They hide behind pin-stripe suits, and in the corner of our vision, but they are everywhere.
On our streets, on our televisions, at our workplaces, littered about the peripheries of our lives.
They stand just out of reach, pulling the strings that dance the world.
And once you see them, you can never look away, and they will never leave you alone.
They corrupt our families, and our friends, and if we are not careful: they will corrupt us as well.
The only reasonable response? Violence, incarceration, and madness.

Quiet Town

Quiet Town Cover

Attracted by the mysterious promise of redemption and catharsis, Quiet Town is visited only by the desperate, the weak, the damaged, and the insane. Such visitors do not leave. The few lucky enough to find the closure that they seek, the few that manage to fight their way to that pot of gold and the end of a bleak, grey, rainbow, ascend silently into the night sky. Most, instead, are struck down in their quest, rot into the ground, and become a part of the throbbing ebb of Quiet Towns geoconsciousness.

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