Jane Jago’s Drabbles – Three Hundred and Ninety-Two

Something she had once thought of as self was fighting for breath, while those who kicked the broken body laughed.

“Whore,” the biggest said and spat into the blooded mess that might once have been a face.

“I think we’ve killed it,” another remarked.

The lights went out, and the men manning the cameras moved to ease their cramped limbs.

“Best yet,” the ‘director’ beamed, “but snuff movies do use up women…”

Those were to be his last words alive.

It really isn’t wise to kill and maim in a grove sacred to the forest gods. 

It makes them hungry.

©jane jago

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