It came from the bog, dragged that foetid stench all around the village like it dragged its emaciated body.
We think it might have been a deer once, before the bog got to it and leeched all the life out.
The wretches it leaves behind are barely conscious most days, which is far more of a blessing than curse.
Sometimes people come out, spindle-limbed and gaunt as fresh bones but their eyes are so very awake.
They're the ones we kill without hesitation, it's the kindest thing we can do.
The animals are left to rot away under mother nature's fair skies as is only natural.
We know the bog will come for us all someday and we hope we never see the sun again.
Everyone knows someone who only went down the road and never came back.
Those are the days when the air smells like dead eggs and stagnant water.
We think it might have been a deer once, before the bog got to it and leeched all the life out.
The wretches it leaves behind are barely conscious most days, which is far more of a blessing than curse.
Sometimes people come out, spindle-limbed and gaunt as fresh bones but their eyes are so very awake.
They're the ones we kill without hesitation, it's the kindest thing we can do.
The animals are left to rot away under mother nature's fair skies as is only natural.
We know the bog will come for us all someday and we hope we never see the sun again.
Everyone knows someone who only went down the road and never came back.
Those are the days when the air smells like dead eggs and stagnant water.
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