A rotting corpse.
I run my fingers through its fur, flies hopping from its open stomach to my hand.
"No! Please!" I scream, taking its floppy ear into my hand, its ribcage torn open by the bullet.
The earth has already started to reclaim what was once its, patches of fur and skin missing from the hunting dog, the flies had already made quick work of the open wound, eating away at the dogs' organs.
Until it would be as empty as my own insides.
YOU ARE READING
Empty Corpse of a Hound
General FictionLena Dunaj doesn't have it easy, but I guess any main character of a dystopian novel doesn't either. The problem is this novel is much darker.
