I may have cribbed a little bit from Westworld. You try writing three hundred stories in three weeks.
Tag: armistice
I was seven when they rode into my town. Masked men in devils’ horns. They killed everyone -women, children, even the animals. They gutted my mother from her jaw to her sex. I had to paint her warm blood over my skin to make sure that they would think I was dead. Every one of them I tracked down, I used their blood to paint my skin again. Only one man left. The head of the snake.
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