Falling by Anthony McGowan Page 4
4
A figure, massive and heavily shrouded, walked through the willow scrub by the side of the fast-flowing river. His fingers were strong and hooked, the nails broken and filthy.
He paused by the body of the boy. Leaning over, he took his pale face in his thick rough fingers, and grunted. The boy breathed still. The fall didn't always kill them straight away. Sometimes they rolled and bumped down, bouncing from tree to tree.
It made no difference to him. With a grunt he heaved the boy over his shoulder, and trudged on.
With his free hand he took the phone from under the folds of his cloak. His thumb moved jaggedly over the keys.
help me i'm falling
The End
