Yard Sale of Thoughts

Fog made the fresh-laid snow look dirty like the land had a nasty secret to defend. 

“Turn back,” a lone crow squawked, perched on the border’s barbed wire fence.

“Why’d we teach ‘em to talk again?”joked the captain, but his humor was weakened by the gas mask’s neoprene. I lifted the wire and signaled the survivors to pass under it.

“Why wait?” the captain reasoned. Death was behind us, although it could easily be a few feet ahead. In this fog, we marched senseless.

When the capital dome came into view, we were greeted by a headless murder perched upon a string of dangling politicians. The Senate floor now machine-led.

©2025 | K.F. Hartless

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