Flash Fiction by Thomas Hiscock
Deep in the woods, where the hills are lonely and the wind whispers to the moon…
Lies a field.
The grass is tall, swaying in the breeze – gossiping; chattering; passing secrets…
And in this field stands a tree –
A hanging tree.
From its branches hang the dead… and the dying –
Screaming people… bloodied, bent, and broken people…
There’s a man here.
He stands in the tall grass – silent, staring — eyes fixed on the bodies twisting in the wind…
“Wind chimes,” he says, pointing.
A woman with no arms and no legs hangs from a rope.
She cries out… full of God.
Her nose starts to bleed, keeping time on the ground below.
“Wind chimes,” says the man, pointing…
Text © Thomas Hiscock
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