At just after 2 a.m., Donald Blake stepped back from the snake-like sculpture, the hammer hanging heavily in his still tingling hand. He looked at the metal monstrosity, finally feeling the compelling urge to create it subsiding. A smile slipped across his lips as he saw the resemblance to the monster in his dreams, remember how two nights ago in a fit of anxiety he was forced to come out and create.
Taking a deep breath, he let the mallet slip out of his hand and crash to the ground.
“Let this serve as a warning, Midgard is protected.”
(author’s notes: I’m a bit of a geek, and if you know your comics, you might recognize who this is. Plus 10 points if you didn’t have to Google Bing it.)
Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: Friday Fictioneers
http://ift.tt/1eE9Bbq
No comments:
Post a Comment