I see the tavern, warm and welcoming, and tether my horse in the stable. Eager for a pint, the fire crackles in an empty bar. I reach behind and pour a frothy glass. Then I see the blood, the bodies, and him, a black cloud of flies, hovering silently before the pest spreads to me.
© 2019, Michael Shawn Sommermeyer. All rights reserved.
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