Eric A Miles
Stories (2/0)
Henrietta
Henrietta Henrietta was a small cherub-faced nine-year-old whose eyes always sparkled. She lived with her mother, father, two brothers and an older sister in a lopsided two room shack of a house with a roof that barely kept out the rain and gaps in the walls that allowed whistling winds to rush through on cold, bleak nights. Their only warmth on those nights came from being huddled together in the main room beneath thick blankets beside a cast iron stove that needed to be constantly fed lumps of coal.
By Eric A Miles2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Redoubt
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say, but as the mocha pattern of gas and stars swirled against the inky, icky dark above, you could hear them scream as my machete cut into necks. My arm was burdened from fatigue, and it took me two strikes to sever a head from the body. The backward swing caught and sprayed blood while the blunt thud splayed it down the front and back. The swinging and chopping had made a Rorschach pattern of blood and entrails against white robes and hoods. It was the only way and necessary. I had to go through them to get to Her, but I didn’t mind . . . not at all.
By Eric A Miles2 years ago in Futurism