Lamb Stew

    Dead grass dominates the farmlands. A trickle of a river staggers from the mountainside. June’s father slaughtered the emaciated sheep, Toes, over a week ago. Her father and mother ate the last fatty chunk yesterday. Helping her mother prepare the stew, June discovers the rosemary, thyme, and bay leaf among the carrots and potatoes. These twigs of spices enhance the meaty flavor of stew, but they don’t have any more sheep. Her mother smiles and dumps the vegetables into the boiling cauldron. She reassures June that lamb is being added to the stew. June licks her lips.

“I hope we have a fat lamb.”

“She’s on the thin side, but her meat should last.”

“What’s her name?”

“June.”

    A hatchet thwacks June on the side of her head. She plummets to the floor and whimpers. Her father raises his hatchet and strikes again. The wife adds salt, pepper, rosemary, thyme, and a bay leaf to the cauldron. The husband takes the lamb, June, out back to dice up. Salting and drying out the pieces that won’t be added to tonight’s stew.

Spring Break, here I come! Times are rough, but here's a dark short story to pass the time. If you're able, please support me on Patreon so I can keep doing what I love.

It's been a long two months.

    I'm sorry for not posting anything in February. I know I'm not the only one feeling wrung out from everything happening, nor am I currently someone in immediate danger. But I'm tired and furious about everything that's going on with Trump's 2nd term. I hate that we're in this situation. I know who I voted for. It was the Harris & Wales ticket. I voted for democracy and the betterment of this country. I'm not upset with the people who made the right choice. I'm disgusted at the people who made the wrong one. Every ill that befalls the United States is on you who voted for a fascist and his enablers. Hope the recession was worth whatever millisecond of joy you got out of Trump winning. May the pain you've wrought eat at your bones. I have no tears for you. Stay as safe as you can.

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