They hang; some in bunches, others alone. Umbilical cords connect to maternal branches. The progeny sway in the breeze. Sun bakes the forest floor.
Footsteps! In soft grass. The man salivates, eyes glazed. Pauses; inhales; snarls through discoloured teeth. Bloodshot eyes swivel toward a succulent hatchling. Unsheathes his knife.
The scions sense danger. Scream. Agonisingly.
He falls to his knees, knife dropped. Ears covered, bleeding through fingers.
Foetal leeches jump, cords elastic. Countless needled jaws affix. His death is slow torture. They drain him. Withdraw. Bloated. His alabaster corpse stinks in the calescent sun.
They hang.
Until the next feed.
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alt="The Mannequin People by Michael J. Stiehl"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Gator by Randall Andrews"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Rude Awakening by Richard Lau"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="136694 by S.F.J. Painter"
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>