Every morning, at first light, the town’s menfolk armed with an assortment of old and battered weapons would crawl beneath the electric fence and head for the distant sand dunes and deep ravines.
At night us children would lie in our beds listening to distant screams and strange wild noises.
At first light, the women would gather at the fence to collect the food the men brought back, tend to the injured and mourn those who would not be returning.
That night we’d eat well and sit around the campfire listening to frightening tales of fierce monsters and demented demons.
A 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.
Photo courtesy of Russell Gayer
Categories: 100-Word Stories
A writer of short stories.