Home About Menu Menu Subscribe

Father Time

By Selimile, Brooklyn, NY

The old man sat, cross-legged, in the Cave. His gray, wrinkled eyelids were shut over his glassy eyes, hiding them from view. A long gray beard stretched from his chin. He wore a smock that was so old it was as gray as he was. He was waiting for the child.

He did not have to wait long. A young girl’s head peered in, soft brown hair falling in ringlets around her head. She seemed amazed by the sight of the Cave; the shimmering walls, multi-hued and entrancing. She didn’t notice the gray little man until she peered down to see if the floor shimmered too. It did, but the old man was there too, and she immediately realized which was more important.

She walked to sit by him, her shoes squeaking on the glassy surface of the Cave floor. When she was firmly seated at his side, she tapped him lightly on the shoulder to alert him to her presence.

Continue Reading »

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this!