THE CORN FIELD
September 19, 2016
Hake Murrow crouched hidden in the corn field, the slurry of mud sliding and dripping from his body. His heart hammered. Its echo throbbed in his ears. From far off in the distance he heard the high squealing yelps of the hounds. He dared not linger longer. He crashed through the corn, fending off stalks with his fendered arms. He heard the hounds no more. On and on. Ever and ever. There was no exit. No exit. Ever. He stopped. His eyes widened. No exit. Ever.
