It was getting late. The last rays of sunlight were just barely peaking above the horizon, washing everything in a golden light. There was a cold wind picking up from the northwest, causing the fog from the pond to pick up and roll across the lane where he stood. It got caught up in the naked tree branches, moonlight reflecting through like a disco ball.
He checked his watch again. They were late.
He knew this task had been too great. That he should have done it himself. But he was beginning to wonder where one found the time to do it all. He tugged up the collar of his jacket against the wind. He supposed, the time he was spending, here, now, waiting, was the time he would have used to do the task himself.
He sighed, checking his watch again. This is the last time I ever trust a demon, he thought.
Inktober 2023, Prompt #17: DEMON
Whitney Writes... 
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