He blamed the sound the screen door made as it slammed closed behind him. The loose hinge he promised to- but never mended- scraping against the pocked metal of the door, ticking away the seconds until the winged portal just disappeared, and took with it, that portion of his life.
He built his fires in a thousand places and slept on the banks of rivers. The grass grew over his tracks, but he knew where they were when he came again. Which paths were safe to retrace, and which ones should be avoided- even in the splendor of the moonlight.
He longed for her sometimes, for the girl she had once been. Before the demon lust had put a ring through her nose as surely as if with an auger, and dragged her from his bed, not kicking and screaming, but cooing and singing the notes of another mans name.
OLWG only offered one phrase on prompt #14, so I combined it with the photo provided by Carol J.Forrester on this months Speculative Fiction Prompt, and the quote, “He built his fires in a thousand places and slept on the banks of rivers. The grass grew over his tracks, but he knew where they were when he came again.” – From The Shiralee by D’arcy Niland provided by Kristian on this weeks 50 word Thursday.