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A blog for poetry, prose, and pop culture.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun

Chapter 39


The wind blew across the desert sands, brush and tumble weeds rustling through the prairie. The moon hung low in the western sky in the waning hours of twilight, just before the dawn. It was warm still in the desert as the final rays of moonlight fell across the secluded valley. The wind blew through the ragged remnants of the village that had lay there. You could still hear the slight flapping of the tent flaps and torn banners that lay strewn about the carcasses of the dead men in the camp sight.

Bodies, Indian and Cavalry alike, had been killed in a violent clash. The Armies of the Cavalry having descended in the isolated village. Each side had fought viciously, the Cavalry with superior numbers, the Indians with superior purpose. Each Indian had fought like 10 men, staying alive long after shots and swords had pierced their breast. After the last Indian had fallen, the wounded and dis-spirited Cavalry riders had left the accursed village behind, forgoing their own dead and beating a hard pace home.

Now as the first rays of dawn broke from the east, a terrible sight was beheld by all who watched it rise that day. A sun, black as the pitch of night, rose in the distance. Black rays of sun light plunging the Earth into a dim shadow, like a night sky with no stars. When the first rays shone down upon the ancient Indian Valley, across the bodies of the fallen who had spilled their blood in this most sacred of places, the Earth was reborn. For those who had died the day before, now life returned to their bodies. Each fallen rose, their bodies thick and bloated from the sun, shambled in different directions. Each with a wide razor sharp maw stretched open, waiting and hungry. For the flesh of those still alive.

End of line.

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