Untying The Not,

by William Morgan

I sliced, slashed, pierced, asked,

” Where is my son?”

It smirked. I grinned. Showed it my other knife.Created of pure silver. Emptied my savings to have it made.

Fear in it’s eyes.

I carved, flayed. It screamed. I whispered,

“Where is my son?”

The cuts burned. Charred the wounds. It cried. Begged. I severed.


It told.

“Proof, need proof.” It gibbered, screeched as I hacked, chopped. It showed me proof, and how to enter the land of fairyfolk.

With proof I can convince the others. Then we’ll gather up our weapons.

And prepare for war.

About Russ Thompson

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