He hung, his widow wept and his child sobbed.
“We don’t accept no mutations round here, see?”
The child watched as the village moved away, still throwing jibes at the dangling corpse.
“Nothing different, see?”
The widow’s white hand clenched the boy’s arm and his eleven, terrified toes curled in his worn out leather shoes.
This is for the 55 Word Challenge. Choose a picture and write a story using no more than 55 words. See Jezri’s Nightmares for further entries…