Battlegrounds

Childhood crept through those long summer days when the smell of pine hung in the hot air. Deep in the shadows of that besieged acre, heaven and hell played out a lethal game in what crawled, wriggled or took wing. Death there was silent and cries froze in gaping mouths. Dragonflies patrolled the boundary like miniature demons and in hollows, mandibles gnawed on nerves until the last thread snapped and let panic loose. Gowned in finery, other terrors waited to welcome fleeing souls with a fatal sting or to paralyze the will and render living flesh food for offspring. At night, screams broke out and blew across battlegrounds to tangle in the thickened skeins of dreams. Years on, all have sunken deeper and slurried into a faceless fear. There are times, even now, when you can hear the sobs of those still wandering the wastelands of restless nights whilst good people sleep.