The Harvester was the rustling of autumn leaves, there one minute, gone the next.
I could feel the bite of the autumn air, warning us all of the harsh winter that was on its way.
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I could feel the bite of the autumn air, warning us all of the harsh winter that was on its way.
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Long after the other voices had dropped away, Sam kept howling, very soft and slow.When he finally fell silent, the night felt dead. Sitting was intolerable. I stood up, paced, clenched and unclenched my hands into fists. Finally I took the guitar that Sam had played and I screamed and smashed it into pieces on Dad's desk.