Slowly, and oh so unwillingly, they traveled forward in time, leaving behind shared memories of dimly-recalled happiness, the horse plodding resolutely behind his master, resolved as only beasts can be to existence in an unimagined future. But men, it seems, possessing the benefit (or burden) of forethought, can imagine almost anything; anything, that is, save the moment of their death. So it was that the man stalked resentfully toward a hated future, since, having hated his past, he could imagine nothing better.
Anna LaForge
fantasy science-fiction speculative-fiction
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