The Edge Of Time Image - Moromete Family: On

The sun sat heavy and copper-colored over the plains of Siliștea-Gumești, casting shadows that looked more like cracks in the earth than mere shade. Ilie Moromete sat on the low porch of his house, his back against the timber, whittling a piece of acacia wood that refused to yield.

Suddenly, the gate creaked. It wasn't the boisterous return of a son or the familiar gait of a neighbor coming to gossip. It was a man in a crisp, dark uniform, holding a clipboard that looked like a weapon. Moromete didn't stand. He kept whittling. Moromete Family: On the Edge of Time image

He didn't look at the fields. He didn't have to. He could feel the silence of the village, a heavy, unnatural stillness that tasted of iron and impending rain. The time of long stories and slow tobacco was over. The world was shrinking, folding in on itself like a dry leaf. The sun sat heavy and copper-colored over the