The hay was baled and arranged in a cry for help. Low flying pilots remarked on its eloquence, subtlety and desperation.
From here he could see across the river. Fires burned and airships were vigorously inflated. It was going to be a long night.
He didn’t know what was at the bottom of the hill. He had his knife. He had the borrowed dream. He had the special cloth.
Passengers handed the note forward, some scribbling additions, until it reached the conductor who then promptly pulled a man from a nearby row and violently threw him from the moving train.
Only a single shoe. He alternated it regularly. The other foot, bare, always suffered in the sharp darkness.
The entrance to the shelter was blocked by bales of old clothes, collected and bound with barbed wire. From inside they could hear an aria, played on dry bones and drum skins.
The colony played the game until their ears bled. Each time they restarted, they were certain they would win.
“The least subtle things will always win,” he said just before pressing the button.
The river was a somber reminder, the ships that sailed on it were a conciliation.
“Simon, I insist you allow us into the basement. We’ll start the search there, then proceed to the lake house, family tomb and finally the fishpond.”
She held up a small vial full of what looked like gray sand. “This is all that’s left,” she said.
The sounds in The Wood were different, as if the world had suddenly shifted an octave.
When they were kids they were followed by a UFO, each time they’d thrown rocks at it until it went away.
“The search heuristic is simple,” the sheriff said, “we dredge the swamp, then we dredge it again. We dredge until we can’t dredge no more.”
Bakers from the entire county arrived in time for the interrogation and subsequent trial.