The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

Well Doing, Weary


The old preacher wearily settled his bones at last on a wooden pew, harder than the harsh land that had grown this church. Years had bent and burdened him, years of reaching out his once strong, now gnarled hands to a people with ears stiff from not hearing, mouths folded in grim lines, and jaws set each one against their neighbor.