J Whitworth Hazzard’s Picture Choice: 1
Title: Musings of an Evil Henchman
(Born From The Center Of A Storm Series)
The smell was always the dead giveaway. It was impossible to describe accurately with the limited senses of this body, but it never failed to locate the perfect spot. It was a combination of decay, stagnation, and ancient copper of blood spilled and spoiled. With his own eyes, Tau would have been able to see the signature of genetic perversions in the living things surrounding the trail and the whorled lines of force emanating from the tree. But these eyes were fogged with cataracts and dimmed by age.
It was a primitive form of magic that marked the sepulcher, but the stain of evil deeds was clear. The primitives chose the same path that led him here to this place, sensing the same violations of nature and marked it as their own.
He wondered how close the long-dead murderers must have come to discovering the truth; how close they came in their rituals to opening doors that lay in the shadows of existence. They must have sensed the boundless power that lay just out of reach. They simply didn’t take their conviction far enough. It was only at the very fringes of light and dark, good and evil, matter and energy, that the rules binding others fell away into so much vapor and allowed one to be truly free.
He could have dug around and exhumed the corpses that were littered around the tree to study how far these people had progressed, but this body had its limitations. He had to conserve what little life it had left.
The crows cawed and flapped wildly at his approach, but they didn’t flee. They could sense his purpose and settled in to watch their new master expectantly. The old man’s hunched and rheumatic body hobbled along the road. He stopped and admired the strong wooden poles and tapped his gnarled cane against the nearest frame.
“These will do nicely,” Tau said. A crow cocked its head and cawed, questioning.
Tau waved his canes at the old telegraph poles and explained to the bird, “For the bodies. They’re perfect for hanging bodies.”
The crow squawked and flew to Tau’s shoulder, the first to do his bidding, the crow would get the first pick of the meat.
“We’ll find her, my pet. Make no mistake. Soon the screams of the tortured ones will fill her dreams. She’ll have no choice but to show herself.”
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Trained in science and critical thinking, J. Whitworth spends his leisure time writing fiction that would make his former professors cringe. Dr. Hazzard’s PhD in molecular biophysics is used to figure out how to scientifically justify the existence of mythical creatures. Follow him at Twitter @Zombiemechanics Facebook Blog Zombie Mechanics