The Nocturnal Incursion: An Unfinished Minimalistic Tale 4/07, 6/05

Three weary travelers marched along the road, that which was paved but had just a few hundred meters before been naught but hard-packed dirt. There seemed no intent to their travel; though they marched straight and ever-forward, penetrating deeper and deeper into the town, they were erratic; stopping here and there on the street for a moment to glimpse at something or listen to something. The road lurched upward somewhat and running askew yet parallel to it was rising section of partially wooded land at the soft, flat apex of which were rails and before them, an iron railroad bridge, a trestle, that forded the great river that lay beneath and behind them. A sidewalk appeared after a while, but it was as tar-black as the road or the sky that loomed over that recumbent thoroughfare. It was night in the slumbering, deserted town, and the few streetlights offered little sanctuary, little hope, little resistance to the onslaught of the encroaching, omnipresent darkness of the night whose ominousness and almightiness seemed to be heralded by the titanic, obstreperous roar of the ever-moving waters of the great, swollen river that diagonally divided two somehow alike, somehow diametric, antithetical towns which were adjacent to one another. Buildings faced the street at odd, inconstant intervals..............