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Weekly Contest #40
*****There were no stars that night.A phantom maestro pulled his fisted hands to the sides and the constant chirping of the crickets and hoots of the big-eyed owls ceased – the death of a rhythm.We only heard the dry crackle of the leaves we massacred along the way to the deepest part of the woods.Only the faintest light of the moon shone through the thick, grey clouds that also ate up the once-luminescent stars. That light was the only witness to the deed we were going to do tonight.George and I huffed up every breath we could draw. You ask...
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