I missed last week’s Friday Fictioneers. Yet again life, work and ironing got in the way. But the ironing is done, the lesson plans are complete and I have an empty house for a few hours so I can once again succumb to my weekly vice. Alas, it is only one of many but that’s a story for another day…….
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Photo Copyright : Madison Woods
“Spawned by the devil” my grandmother used to say. Yet, as a child there were no horns, no eyes burning red at the sight of a full moon. I’d spent most of my childhood searching for the signs. Half afraid of what I’d find, yet strangely, almost desolate, when there was nothing.
Even now, a man full grown, those words still haunt my dreams. Although the signs are no longer hidden, no longer buried beneath youth and innocence. I raise my glass, relishing the warm taste of blood across my lips. I offer up a toast “To you, Father” as my grandmother spins in her grave.