I get up at 5 a.m. before the dew dries on the wicker chairs and the rabbits have emerged to feed. The mosquitoes are still hatching in the old tire behind the barn and I can hear their faint whines, knowing they are eternally unloved.
A pre-dawn glimmer spreads over the cornfields, letting the folk horrors know it’s time for bed. When the day is hazy, they dream of the next night’s gory games.
Even in the quiet of 5 a.m., the reaping can’t come soon enough.