This is a rewrite of a previous story titled "Dismemberment." I wanted to refashion it into something sharper and more visceral. Hopefully, I succeeded in some way. The gleaming fright-filled eyes of a boy wearing an over sized soldier's helmet clutching a rifle almost as long as him was the last thing Marie had seen before the cellar door closed leaving them in darkness as enveloping as the grave itself. She had her two daughters huddled against the stone walls clutching each other tighter every time a shell impact shook the house and showered them with dust. The blinding darkness made time imperceptible to the terrified widow holding onto her crying children. It seemed like the fighting had petered out, but there was no way to tell how long it was before the last shot, so she decided to wait just a little longer. The static darkness made the futility of her prudence apparent. She decided if any time warranted using their last bit of kerosene this was probably it. S
This is a collection of anecdotes from the fringes of reality, a tapestry stitched together from our dreams as well as our nightmares, from the fears that haunt the collective imagination. These are the symptoms of the sickness known as the human condition.