Swamp Fever by Andree Wallin
There was a shotgun in my left hand. I remember the weight of it keenly. I knew how to use it.
Which was odd, since I’ve never laid eyes on a gun before.
It may have been dusk, though the trees curling above made it impossible to really tell. There was a green tinged mist in the air, a smell of moss and sodden dirt on the breeze. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked around and seen something so unfamiliar. Continue reading
The Robotic Hermit 