Ankyra Sound port of call

somebody from blackwater...?
late night, mist.

he had fled.

all the way he had heard the voice of his mother in his ears, felt her breath down his neck. the insults she had swung cut deeper now than they ever had on that day. and he knew that she had been right. she always had been, she always would be.

and even when he could not decipher what was real versus what was fake in his exhaustion on the coast, her words still rang clear as day.

even in the dark, even as his breathing ran in rugged streams, even as his heart thrummed in his ears.

perhaps he was a coward.

what did it matter, in the end?

things to consider as he laid, motionless out in the open. the cold air mixed with the dark cloudy sky served to give him the perfect atmosphere to be miserable in.