A Dark Roux

by Blaine Daigle

This hour when the world of man was driven by fear to beds of safety and comfort, while nature reclaimed what always belonged to her.

Because that’s what the dead were, shadows. Existing as long as the light of memory gives them shape. When the light dies, and the memory fades, the shadows fade with them.

The stains you leave behind are eventually washed clean by those who come after, so why should the house be any different?

so the screams drifted off into the bayou where they became one with its own dark song.