The dead thing lay in the sky like a dripping, rotting sore. It was flesh, as far as the senses of man, earthbound man, could tell—that is, as far as the eye and sometimes, unfortunately, the nose could tell—misshapen beyond any further recognition. If flesh, then the flesh of what? Was it the chunk of something much bigger? Or, was it a cancer which had completely overgrown its host? Only the carrion crows had intercourse with it. When they first came, like a black cloud, the murder had flocked around the bleeding thing above to sate their hunger.
How Great Is That Darkness?
Tale Told 