PHOTO PROMPT © Mr. Binks
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Willard looked up from beneath the discarded canvas at the base of the ride. He heard the squeals of the happy rubes spinning and twisting, hoping they’d vomit.
The sound of tinny calliope music, the sickening smell of cotton candy, or someone gorging another cheap hotdog with mustard filled him with nothing but hate. Big Luther said he still got nostalgic, but his brain rotted long ago.
Will nodded to the others, each one in their hidden positions. Just at ten, when the crowds were wildest and the carny lights blotted out the stars of heaven, they’d begin the slaughter.
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