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The Intruder

by David Blake

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He has come from afar
Cold sweat and breathing
Mud sliding, misty, death-like
Breathless, walking slowly
 
A lake of pure silver
The mist distorts it
A box on the water, a red light
Scrutinises him, the new arrival
 
A thrill of horror passes through him
He looks about him, the trees do not smile
The turf is reckoning, the sky's darkening
...

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Thursday 24th January 2013 2:27 am

2009

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