Spring Mill Short Story

I am wandering down the road. Right down the very middle, marked with a dotted yellow line, worn from years of wind and rain. My new cane taps in front of my feet. A tap with every step. Tap on the right. Tap on the left. Over, and over, and over. That’s the only sound I hear. The only light comes from a lamp post on the corner of the road, and also marks the end of town. I may not be able to see it anymore, but I know it is there.
The other end of town is marked with a painted wooden sign, saying the town name and population. ‘Spring Mill,’ it reads in big fading letters. ‘Population 30’. No longer accurate. The paint is peeling and the wood is splintering into sharp points. I have known this sign since childhood.
The shoulder of the road, where I now walk, is covered with dead leaves and sticks, which crunch under foot. …show more content…
The woods surrounding the town are still charred black from the fire that happened in the old saw mill this past winter. The fire during which I lost my sight. It’s time to turn when the cane stops hitting dirt on my left. The sound changes under my feet as I do so. The sound is now gentle, and rhythmic. The click of my converse against the concrete driveway. The sound of shoes against soft yet solid stone. Each step strong in the silent stillness of the woods. Each tap softer than my