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Vistula's Drabbles
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Fallen to Darkness

Axes clanged hollowly in the still evening air. In their brutal ringing they spoke doom to the Shirelings who huddled like rabbits in their burrows. Peering from windows and half-cracked doors, they trembled as leather shod feet tramped the lanes.

Laughter, the scorn of dark deed-doers, raped the bucolic peacefulness while rough voices yelled: “Here now my lads! Pull it down!”

As a crackling sound like distant thunder cleaved the air, somewhere nearby a frantic voice cried: “The Party Tree! They’ve cut it down!”

Silence followed, and in the hush before darkness fell, the sky opened its eyes and wept.


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