In Which A Story Unfolds: Chapter Ten*
Ink on paper
She could do nothing as the storm decimated the land and plants and creatures. And when the storm did end, it left only muteness.
Creatures’ bodies were flung about, bloated and limp. The sand churned up its own skeletons. The snapped trees and crushed plants folded in upon themselves.
She did not move as the island clung to its own desolation. She did not move until, days later, a creature cried out, the voice pushing through the air to meet her.
And she moved once more, collected the desolation in her arms, and she stayed.
*Each day for the next 4 days, I’ll add on to this story as it unfolds.
320 days done, 45 days to go.