When the summer's heat killed off the grass, we began to see the outlines of all the things that history had tried to bury and forget. Not just the ancient settlements of long dead empires, not just old roads that lead to the middle of nowhere, not just the crooked outlines of poorly dug graves but also the recently restless dead.
Nothing sleeps in this heat, nothing dares to try for fear of not waking up again. You can see them along every inch of the pale yellow fields, their broken skulls and unhinged jaws perfectly visible among the brown stalks that tried to be daisies.
Sometimes they move, the theories are that they're just following people who interest them or that they knew when they were alive... or they're looking for another body to hop into and what better way to make their move than to wait until all the excitement dies down and their shifting presence becomes normalised...
Nothing sleeps in this heat, nothing dares to try for fear of not waking up again. You can see them along every inch of the pale yellow fields, their broken skulls and unhinged jaws perfectly visible among the brown stalks that tried to be daisies.
Sometimes they move, the theories are that they're just following people who interest them or that they knew when they were alive... or they're looking for another body to hop into and what better way to make their move than to wait until all the excitement dies down and their shifting presence becomes normalised...
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