After the battle, Shook drops his weapon and flops to the ground.  He stares blankly at the shattered wall ahead.  There are parts everywhere, bits and pieces of things and people.  Somewhere nearby, someone is moaning awfully, wetly.

Cloister is hunched over near the breach, praying, a piercing declaration.  Through the numbness, Shook feels a stab of hot, white anger, and almost, almost walks over and strangles the son of a bitch.  Instead he starts to cry dry, slow tears.

The wind hisses through the trees, and the sky eddies back and forth, and the grass dances and whisper-laughs.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: