Tess looked at the picture of a teenage boy carrying his dying father out of the swirling black smoke. “Who is he?” “Not who,” Blackwood warned. “But what.”
Sometimes the only way to make sense of the world,
is to write about it...
They struck at noon. Monkeys shrieked in confusion as Langur fighters sprung down from the Cemetery walls, howling in an attacking frenzy. As they stormed through the tombs, fear and panic flashed everywhere. And with the screams came the smell of blood.