( Fire and conflict, two familiar things )

( We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year )

( And the mocking laughter of the crows was the last thing he heard. )

And the last thing he heard was the crows....

The hoarse cries of the crows made a harsh counterpoint to the low, constant buzz of the flies. The bodies littered the field like so much trash. They were nearly waist high to the little boy that walked through them. He recognized every single face, because he was the one who had killed them all. They ( Read more... )