A droubble by chant_z
There was a sound from a nearby garden. Shakib could hardly discern it through the softly humid night where the distant stars where blurry above a thick, dark layer of stratocumulus clouds. He followed the narrow, fenced path leading towards the gardened entrance. No source of sound was to be seen. The flowered entrance was all dark to his wetted eyes as a trembling sensation of constrained ferociousness around the flowered area hit him like a teslian punch.
The wooden house had seen it all through decades and decades. It went along a circular area and the garden was designed as reminder of history; it must always come again.
“Come with me …”
The wind seemed to whisper but all of a sudden as he shook his head it was gone. Maybe it was a trick of the night or maybe a trick of the light or perhaps the lack of it. The dimmed entrance was all there was and that was all, except him. He was alone but the humid air gave birth to a scent of flowers not far away from where he stood in a tranquil, marveled gaze. That is about what it was or wasn’t it?