By the glow of the fire, we could hear the thrumming of the distant drums like waves on the ocean, except coming to our ears. We didn’t mean to stop here; it was because we spent so much time repairing the chimney.
Suddenly there was a sound of chains rattling, dinning the peacefulness of the drums. The short stint of simple drumbeats was washed out by a score of rattles and clanks from the cells below the town. These cells were like stains upon the finest clothes, never fully disappearing.
Was this all a dream? Was I even awake? I could smell the burnt wood in the fire.
©2020 CBialczak Fiction