It was a shadowy and threatening wind. A ‘Black Death’ shroud enveloped me in a twirling tornado of sharp knives and steel spikes, pinning me motionless against cold ancient limestone of my beloved medieval church at the base of Monte Chimera. Hopeless and lifeless, the airs of screaming ghosts and infernal ghouls were drawn from the deepest bowels of the earth…
Billy struggled to wake up and stay that way. His head heavy, his neck couldn’t sustain its weight and it drooped down onto his chest. Each attempt to open his eyes brought the coarse sensation of a rough cloth tightly placed across them, preventing his vision.
The unusual livestock killings began in earnest the first frost of 2016. Such was the way of life and death for the rural farming community of the North Georgia mountains, but near the Georgia and Tennessee border, the farmers had experienced nothing like the gluttony of carnage to come.
In ten days, Thanksgiving 2016 would be a wrap. For one metro Atlanta family, this meant two of three sisters had less than a day to decide whether or not to be at their parent's table for the feast. The oldest sister, Glenda, would be there, showcasing her new love interest.
At dusk, three, loud knocks at her front door scared the young, grief-stricken mother of four. Huddling around her in front of a solitary space heater, Ann's three children jumped, startling her even more. For a brief second, they shivered, fearing it was death itself that had come knocking.
There is no greater test of vision than to foresee one’s own death. Reminiscent of a Rodin sculpture come to life, Artek sat motionless on the hot sand, his back pressed against the rough-but-reassuring bark of a tall palm tree. High overhead, the sun shone down with unusual fierceness, and he was grateful for the limited shade.
"I thought I knew them, my best friends since we were thirteen years old. Growing up through those awkward teenage years with them, listening to their girl troubles or lack thereof. Then one day I found out the truth."