Will raised his face into the long shadows that crept from the forest. Vapor trails slashed the sky, and the tops of the trees blazed molten gold. He used to love this hour, when the light connoted hope. Hope that his mom would seek help, and when he abandoned that fantasy, hope that he could escape. Now the gloaming was simply a reminder of his son dying at the close of day.
Back to the significance of the gloaming, the in-between hour. (The working title for this novel was THE GLOAMING.)
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