Monochrome Nightmare – The Windmill
It moved languidly in the breeze, although the air felt still and stale on my tongue. There must have been enough air to move the blades, but I couldn’t see how. Something rhythmically would make a chunk sound every seven seconds, but I had no interest in investigating it. She stopped and looked at it for a moment as we passed, as if trying to decide if they were in there or not. She grabbed hold of my arm and began to walk away faster than before, a shudder rippling through her. And then, I did feel wind. A great wind was working itself up, beating against us and riffling the grass. The blades of the mill still moved in their own steady time though, and the trees were still despite the force.
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