The Silver Web page 50 & 51


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The Silver Web page 50 & 51


Drawing and "The Rain King" fiction by Michael S. Gentry

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by MichaelS. Gentry

he rain," croaked the shrinking nurse, "is good." She ran her crooked twig-finger along the side of an empty crib, carefully wiping the dust away. "The rain clouds shield us from the burning eye of God."
The caretaker heard her but said nothing. He finished folding the last of the linen sheets and placed it on top of the stack in one of the other cribs.
The chamber was full of cribs, all of them empty.
"It's time we had rain, anyway," said the nurse. "These are some bad days." The nurse continued to clean the empty cribs, wiping the dust off on her apron. Her apron was the color of dust; as was her frock; as was her bonnet; as was her old, wrinkled skin. Her face resembled a nectarine pit with a long nose. Her dust-colored hair hung in stringy clumps, like Spanish moss.
"Bad days," she said again. She regarded a patch of dust on the end of
her finger, put the finger in her mouth.
The caretaker nodded and watched her hobble back to her stool. The nurse was a little woman, scarcely two feet tall. She had been shrinking steadily for almost five years; soon she would be completely gone.
"I must make things ready," he told her, taking his leave. "There is still much to be done."
The old nurse waved him on. "Don't be a stranger," she muttered.

Michael Gentry lives in Alexandria, Virginia with
his wife Ramee
and his two cats. This is his first published story.

- The Silver

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