Caitlin felt the soft crunch of the newly fallen snow under her boots. The purple laces dragged in a trail behind her, leaving blurred edges to her finely chiseled foot prints in the pristine snow beside her. It had just started snowing when she had entered the Eden Theatre for the “Christmas Miracle Movie Marathon,” but now — just seven hours later — the entire town of Gloaming Gap was covered in at least five or six inches of snow.
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I shuffle through the square, unnoticed, unneeded, irrelevant. I’ve bumped elbows tonight with the elite of the town: the council of elders who run this place – the ones who’ve been here from the beginning, and who think they know everything that happens here. They don’t. They don’t know me… even when I run into them headlong.
Kadamb reached down for a chunk of earth. Dry and brittle, it gave way easily to his practiced fingers, and the re-pulverized bits sifted back down to where he had disturbed it.
This was the place. Here.
I watch them as I watch everything here in town.
They skip, scamper, and shout at one another — little “boos” in training. They’re nothing like their parents, who were nothing like their parents, who were nothing like their parents, who were… Well, you get the idea.
There’s nothing real behind their masks. At best, I could find a few half-breeds I’m sure, but most of them don’t even have the tiniest drop of bloodless in them. Too many “immigrants” to town in recent generations.
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We continue and conclude Zombie-Month-Tober with a change of pace: A poem from Daniel Meyer.
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