The night breeze is a breath on your cheek, hot and humid.
Your field of unharvested grain is beginning to smolder; you’d traced the arc of the firebomb with your eyes. It was all you could do. Your mother wouldn’t let you out of the front door; it had been struggle enough to extricate yourself from the circle of her arms.
She’s crying now, her sobs mingling with the screams of dying sheep.
From your window, you watch war descend on your town. The breeze keeps touching you with soft fingers, whispering platitudes in your ear.
It sounds like metal.
About the Creator
Shadele Grier
I'm a writer who loves spooky things, sci-fi, horror, and fantasy elements. I am also a pagan who has been reading Tarot for almost twenty years! I am a reptile mom and I've been keeping aquariums for most of my life as well.
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