Pain pulsating from grinding teeth to the temple. A hard lump does not belong. Long and white, sharp like a canine; that of a wolf. Ten hundred years passed now Howling Hill seeks new blood. How foolish to think the escape was real. Ooze ran over fingertips; an earthy essence captivated the nostrils. By the fall of the noonday sun, this town will be overrun.
“Flee!” The man demanded. His voice now a growl.
Screams erupt – fur tufts sprout. Blue eyes turn to shadow. Footsteps scurry – before the blinding sun. Time is running out.
About the Creator
Len Lei
Life is intense, as is suspense!
Tune in as words come to life through your imagination.
Fiction and Non-Fiction: Just let me write!
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The Pot Boiling Over
Once, there was a pot of about 340 million drops and droplets. Most of them would like to think they lived together peacefully for decades, but that wasn’t true. Different regions struggled, sometimes fought, with each other. And the mainstreams still often pursued and attacked the minorities. Law enforcers sometimes pushed minority drops out of the pot, never to be seen again.
By Gabriel Shamesa day ago in Fiction
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