They didn’t tell him he’d be seeing things.
They didn’t tell him how cold he’d be, or how alone, or how desperately he’d miss even the smallest comforts. Like a hue that wasn’t on the scale of dirty-white to sort-of-gray.
Maybe he was dying.
Was this how it would be?
He’d ask.
If he could.
They didn’t tell him he’d be unable to speak. Or that the voice he’d make would go unheard, unseen, unnoticed.
He blinked.
The stag was still there.
Continue reading at Na’ama Yehuda
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About Sue Vincent
Sue Vincent is a Yorkshire-born writer and one of the Directors of
The Silent Eye, a modern Mystery School. She writes alone and with
Stuart France, exploring ancient myths, the mysterious landscape of Albion and the inner journey of the soul. Find out more at
France and Vincent. She is owned by a small dog who also blogs.
Follow her at
scvincent.com and on Twitter
@SCVincent. Find her books on
Goodreads and follow her on
Amazon worldwide to find out about new releases and offers. Email: findme@scvincent.com
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Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 