By Aiden Blasi
Of all the men and the women and the children whom I have watched die, she was the most beautiful.
She was younger than me. Yet her straw-colored curls reminded me of Mary. Of my own mother. The soft silver strands of moonlight leaking through the boarded windows found her sickly white face, shining on a film of cold sweat.
Usually, when they die, it looks like relief. For her, it looked like rapture.
So, dear reader, I beg you. Judge me not when I tell you that I lifted my beak and drank the milk of her pustules and buboes.
Excellent! 🙂
Gruesome and lovely at the same time. Well done.
Creepy good!