The Guardians
The Guardians
The first fly catches her scent in the hot, summer wind. Buzzing his arrival, he scrapes his feet and glories in the Guava juice erupting from her mouth. Death is a strong, sweet thing for those with voracious appetite. Guardians of the Dead leave sticky, spiny footprints tracking her body, their microscopic ears attuned to a tornado of hissing emerging from her last gurgling expiration.
You have quite a gift in imagery. You certainly took me there! This little piece is going to stick with me for a while. Really good stuff!
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Thanks, Susan. I thought it a bit gross, myself, lol, but the moving finger writes sometimes without my help.
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Good Lord, Jacqueline!!!
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Thanks, Ted, for your ‘er…’response’, lol
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Amazing job with your imagery! It flowed so smoothly.
Also, I would appreciate another glance at my page, if you feel inclined. I edited the font–hopefully it’s visible.
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Woo! That’s dark. I never thought of flies as Guardians of the Dead.I love the language in this one.
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So very dark, so very vivid. Goosebumps.Jacqueline, goosebumps!
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Your imagery is so good, I feel like I need to go wash my hands! Great work, Jackie, even if it is a bit gross. 🙂
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