Between the Pharaonic pillar and the insect there is a terrible connection. My heart batters its bone cage and my breath comes in gasps. Between the bug and the finial of the balustrade there is also a connection. The locust bestrides the ornate globe, moving up from Africa. Selling insurance is my trade, but even I know we’re in the presence of a portent.
A plague, a Biblical plague, is coming. I seize Seymour’s hand as the sky darkens with a million tiny wings.
“What is it, honey?” he says.
“Don’t you see them?” I say. “Don’t you hear them?”
Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise on character, desire, and suspense here