Blackscreen

A coyote howls amidst the blackscreen of the woods, as unknown silhouettes crawl on the earth’s crust; and the rain whams on muddy soil. The cry of doom threatens each being when the hour screeches to gather a crew of newborns, and within every thickened breath the weak ones tumble over an abyss of carnage without resistance. Mothers wail, yet sharp hands blackened by thorny nails grip the fresh belly of shocked darkness. Nearer and nearer the hooded spirits large with green eyes break the chain, moving closer for a more live feast while babes wiggle like worms. I turn the screen off in a dark, dark room, hurrying to view if my one-month son is in his crib, dreamily asleep. Contest for Moods Sad Theme 9.15.2015