small stories


He was blind, living isolated on a small block of land, on the outskirts of a town in the country. And every Sunday – he’d dress for church. A worn, patched suit, a dark grey, with a hat.

As he reached the front door, he grasped for a wire that led from the house to the main gate, and the road. He’d hold onto a pole, hooked onto the wire, slowly walking to the place where he’d be picked up, to go into town.

Once a week.