Flies swarm the opening to the crawl space. Inside, across the dirt, all dead, save myself, we sprawl. Maggots, wriggling their black magic, blanket the greediest eaters, the bloated kingpins who first hemorrhaged.
I, the runt, ate last. Am the longest to last. The meek shall inherit the valediction.
To die like this in the midst of rich new food…
Blood leaks internally. I retch, knowing a thirst no water on earth can slake…
Did we make too much noise? Too many babies? Neglect to hail the luck that brought us to this heaven turned holocaust?
If (as I suspect) the last: For this twist, on the altar of our drought, let rodent awe ooze.
Flies swarm the opening.