The dead are drugged, dragged outside, and left unburied. The murderers have gone behind the trees for a smoke. The air is a choking haze. The sky should be black but it is not. The moon is full, a jaundiced yellow. I feel sick. How did I get here? This is a mistake. I don’t belong. These are not my kind of people. Excuse me, whose party is this? From the slits of mouths come a stagnant breath of silence. Unnatural light is whitening their already pallid faces. No more for me. I’ve had too much. Thanks but I can’t stay. I don’t even have an invitation. If you could just show me to the door I’ll be on my way. What do you mean there is no key?

photo-art design by todd crawshaw