Jul 18, 2011

The Graves


Eleanor looked to Rob, who shrugged, and she turned south.
                      She slowed the small boat as they neared the jagged ledges. The
                      waves churned, tugging the craft to a smashed and splintered
                      end, but Eleanor held the whaler steady as she circled the treacherous
                      cropping. Her white knuckles clenched the tiller handle’s
                      twist grip against the pull—or maybe the stories of The Graves
                      were getting to her. Eleanor wanted to leave this place. She was
                      relieved to see no sign of life. Nothing stirred. Not even seabirds
                      lingered in the forsaken spot.

No comments:

Post a Comment