He-who-ain’t named

He had journeyed many miles to reach the spot. The spot which locals revered as the place where the sky met the land. Even the swamp breathed an aura of mysticism and his eyes couldn’t quite trace the spot where it ended and the sky began.

Wading past the trees that hindered his view, he was lost in an immense aurora. As he drank in the sky spectacle, his eyes widened. What was this – a hole in the sky?

He strode confidently in, he-the-forgotten, stepping bravely into the unknown.

Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Field’s Friday Fictioneers.  Linking up here.

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