The Butcher

She sliced. Bones crunched, muscles bled. Yellow fat and dimpled skin clung to the undersides of her fingernails. Blue gas burned high, sulfur odor burning her nostrils. She wiped bloody hands on her apron. “Four hours ought to do it.” She licked her fingers, and tied the legs together with twine.

Liz Holsinger.

 

 

 

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The Butcher is a post from: Adventure and Learning