by Gary Ferrill

Flesh was torn. Limbs flayed open. His eyes, a glassy haze. Massive oak limbs held him firmly in their embrace. The Moon an iniquitous orb, its light casting long shadows that seemed to move among the trees, watching.

She stood admiring her cadaver artwork. The blood spilling forth only moments before, enhanced by the sound of his screaming, quickly slowed as it congealed.

She stepped beneath him to catch the last drop of crimson as it dripped from a motionless hand. Splattering on her lips, she licked it away. She couldn’t linger, there was much more work to do tonight.

Gary Ferrill

Gary has been published previously but has not been active in the writing community for several years. Due to his short attention span, he tends to favor flash fiction.