Livewrite: Ferryman of the Damned

Anonymous submission
slavetrader
place where I was born
addiction
Mud puddles

The sound of pelting rain, it never failed to fall when it was most unwelcome. Curt tugged up his collar of his jacket in a gruff manner. Giving a heavy sigh, he ran through the streets of the coastal city of Davenport. The streets barren of anyone living that didn’t have to be out in the pouring rain, soon he would be out of this mess and back to his ship. The new goods had come so quickly from the seller, his crew had...