I heard them before I'd even set foot downstairs. Gran's voice echoed from the kitchen "Crows are circling again. Better find what's died and be rid of it before they draw something bigger." as her good morning. The shovel stood by the front door from the last circling, still couldn't get the damned bloodstains off but stained is always better than nowt.
Last circling I could barely get to the bloody half mauled deer for all crows in the way. It's not like they even eat the meat, they just like leaving a mess I swear. The alternative is worse, having scorn-ridden pests running all about the place - it just ain't right.
"Better dying than dead," as Gran likes to say, "cause the longer they've been dead, the more allure they've got for all of thems that'd like to eat us all." and she wasn't wrong. I mean, she hasn't set foot outside the house in over thirty years but she still knows a damn sight more than the rest of us.
She was there when the scorn first began, you know. Not in the labs themselves but she was working in the pub just down the road when the first few beasties escaped. It was some kind of American mountain cat thing, from what she described but then again it could have been a leopard, a lynx or any large cat-ish thing. They're all the same in her eyes - monsters.
Again, she's not wrong. Anything with scorn is to be scorned, as the news put it. Doesn't make them any less worrisome or disgusting up close though, not with all those gaping sores and the glowing blue fluids they leak out of bloody everywhere. Proper stains your clothes, it does.
Still, once it's had a shovel to the head and been buried deep enough it'll break the circling up.
Unless they've managed to invite in bigger prey.
Ain't no shovel big enough for them ones.
Last circling I could barely get to the bloody half mauled deer for all crows in the way. It's not like they even eat the meat, they just like leaving a mess I swear. The alternative is worse, having scorn-ridden pests running all about the place - it just ain't right.
"Better dying than dead," as Gran likes to say, "cause the longer they've been dead, the more allure they've got for all of thems that'd like to eat us all." and she wasn't wrong. I mean, she hasn't set foot outside the house in over thirty years but she still knows a damn sight more than the rest of us.
She was there when the scorn first began, you know. Not in the labs themselves but she was working in the pub just down the road when the first few beasties escaped. It was some kind of American mountain cat thing, from what she described but then again it could have been a leopard, a lynx or any large cat-ish thing. They're all the same in her eyes - monsters.
Again, she's not wrong. Anything with scorn is to be scorned, as the news put it. Doesn't make them any less worrisome or disgusting up close though, not with all those gaping sores and the glowing blue fluids they leak out of bloody everywhere. Proper stains your clothes, it does.
Still, once it's had a shovel to the head and been buried deep enough it'll break the circling up.
Unless they've managed to invite in bigger prey.
Ain't no shovel big enough for them ones.
No comments:
Post a Comment