They say home is where the heart is, but it turns out it was the hart.
Let me explain.
As it turned out, it all started with the deer.
And the first victim was my sister, who couldn’t stand to see an animal hurt. The hart staggered into the garden, she slipped outside with a cheery wink, and a laugh as I warned against antlers.
“Don’t worry so much,” she said. Her last words.
The last coherent ones, anyway. I still hear her, sometimes, slamming into the basement door and moaning.
***
A very quick blurb today, inspired by AC Young: “Home is where the hart is.” I’m afraid I got a touch morbid with it!
My prompt this week went to nother Mike, who investigated killer trees.
Find this, and more, at MOTE!
