Blood Wrong
Note: This is a work of pure fiction. Any persons, places or events that may seem familiar are purely by coincidence. Blood Wrong The sound, frogs croaking and of millions of crickets tuning up their legs for the same night time symphony that is played on most every night out here by the big pond. The occasional sound of a bird or two calling as they flit about the cattails before settling in for the night was familiar too. So peaceful out here. Out where the skies open up...