Stench
It came out of her slippery with blood, a wizened old man’s face with a peanut body. It wailed through the afternoon no matter how much bourbon she fed it from the drip tube. The force of the lungs would not cease, some monstrous thing calling its still unborn sisters and brothers. She swaddled it in an electric blanket to bake the stench away.
Filed under: Short Story, Writing Tagged: | flash fiction, nightmare, stench, writing
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