Will Mustin
Stories (5/0)
Veins
Blue veins stream his arm My lips trace them upriver To a purple bruise
By Will Mustinabout a year ago in Poets
The Augur Knight
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. In fact, there weren’t always serpents. But one morning in the cold dew, a one-eyed farmer glanced sideways at a crooked branch and thought he saw a viper. He told of it in the tavern that night, and sure enough, by the next morning, the valley’s crannies were squirming with snakes.
By Will Mustin2 years ago in Fiction
Only
Just three days out from San Antonio, the then-unnamed purple fever had claimed most of the livestock, and the stench had gotten so strong that a dark storm-cloud of mosquitos and flies followed along behind the train from the Louisiana line onward. The conductor pulled the brakes in a flat marshy clearing between Crowley and Lafayette and, under a starless sky, the train crew shoved three hundred and thirty nine corpses from the cattle cars onto either side of the tracks. It took over six hours. By the time they pulled into Baton Rouge, the remaining dozen cows had all perished too, save for one bony, shivering calf, who they named “Only” and sold to my Grandma for a nickel.
By Will Mustin3 years ago in Fiction