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David Carey Original Writing I saw the sign a mile off. The dusty wood seemed to glisten as I made my way closer along the dusty trail, my steed scattering the dark crystals like the seeds from a dandelion with every step. The thud of the hooves rattling the floor echoed intensely, keeping in beat with my heart. The closer I got, the more it seemed odd. I began to spot buildings, including the old inn, once a hive of activity, now nothing more than a derelict shack of rustic wood and cracked paint. The trail met the gate, which screamed and tensed up as I swung it open. The sandy arm of the path split down into fingers. The lonely signpost whispered me the direction of the town's features. The wind was coming in, meeting the darkness of the sky head on. I took an uneasy step off of my horse,...

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