#FiveSentenceFiction: Foggy

They emerge from the rice-field, silent, black-clad, hardly visible, even by the birds watching them from high above the earth. The pale sun reflects timidly on their swords: an army of wraiths. In one column they march to the edge of the jungle, without a sound. Deep in the darkness they dive, their leader setting the pace, her steps unreadable to the beasts that track them, her face masked by the certainty of their immortality.

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Sisyphus47

Deplorable resident of Berlin Wedding... Aspiring writer, geek, photographer and jazz lover...

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