Unseemly are the open eyes
That watch the midnight sheep,
That look upon the secret skies
Nor close, abashed in sleep;
Dorothy Parker, Sight
Two more energy orbs from the man’s gun each landed in the eyes of the creature and it was blinded. One final shot plowed into its forehead and its head exploded with green slime. It stumbled about for a few seconds until the entire body dissolved into a pool of pond scum colored nastiness on the floor. The man used the wall to help him to his feet and he walked over to the monster slop, holding out his weapon.
“I shall return to finish this business with you,” he said. “In the meantime, I must tend to that Spencer fellow before your partner in crime devours him.”
The man straightened the sleeves of red cardigan and steadied his breathing. His body still produced random tiny tremors from Glen’s taser shocks. He reached down and picked up the baton from the floor where Glen dropped it. When he replaced it in the satchel, his hand found the book of W.H. Auden poems he had been reading by the barrel fire earlier in the evening. Before all this horrific nonsense started. He knew it would because it was his job to know that. He thought of Denise lying in the grass, mortally wounded. And Liz and Carrie, too. The tears they were likely still shedding.
“I shall return to you, too,” he said to the book.
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