9-05-17

The furnaces burned high in the distance, tinting the smoke in the air a bright orange against the black of the night. The man walked in the hills seeking the warmth of the fires even if his lungs screamed for air. The acidic smoke tasted sweet in the back of his throat.
The furnaces tall like pillars holding the weight of the sky. A long figure in a hood, holding a staff and skinny as a stray dog waited atop the bridge to the nearest furnace.
It waited for the man.