The village was sick. The sweet, hacking smell of death greased the leather hides of each tent. The few elders who remained clapped their hands to their arms, beating away the chill west wind.
Cheveyo looked over at the old men as they hunched, skeletal, before the cracking fire. They didn’t look back. The sight haunted him from that day to his last: shadows of men, as decayed and thin as the skins clutched tight around them, haunched in the shadows of the old world.
The city beckoned. The fight was lost.
The white man’s disease had done it’s work.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Promo image by Nikita Velikanin via Unsplash.
Today’s title was suggested by Michele Seminara. Again, a word I had never heard of before – always a great pleasure! Michele is both the writer of poetry and the managing editor of the creative arts journal VerityLa. You can find her on Twitter @
I am still in search of one word titles for my stories – please feel free to suggest your own by writing it in the comments section below or tweeting me @ using the hashtag #onewordonestory.
If you’ve enjoyed this or any other story, please do share them on whatever feeds you use. I’ll see you back here tomorrow for “Face”!