Beasts
She fed us to him. One after the other, she fed us to him. To save her own flesh. Anything to appease the Beast.
His appetite was varied and unpredictable. It struck in broad daylight. It raged in the middle of the night, untethered and fueled by alcohol. The smell of bourbon on his breath became familiar to his prey, a scented warning of impending terror. Years later, the slightest whiff would spontaneously yank open the hidden drawers of memory.
