by Mari Ness
One by one, he bound the souls into the wooden stick figures, listening to the screams of each bound soul. Old souls, these: the wooden splinters caught and shattered their memories. He raised the fragile figures to their feet, feeling their hatred, their need for revenge.
"Your families await," he whispered, and handed them torches.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Matchstick Souls
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment