Micah Sherwood

Lavender and Sage Micah Sherwood

The night was still, no wind and no noise except for the crickets singing their chaotic chorus; and behind their boisterous refrain, the Shadow Choir's melody flowed through the prairies. The moon was almost full as it floated beneath the luminescence of the Milky Way, while the smoke from the smelter reflected the light of the city, drifting in the quiet darkness and forming arms that seemed to wrap the moon in a black clasp. But the surroundings did not calm him. The feelings of wrongness and déjà vu were persistent...then movement. A tall figure approached from the direction of the pipeline; his flicker was as dark as the night with shades of red pulsating within its core. Danger, he held something glittering, a knife or gun, and now Harry was even with him but on the opposite side of the creek. Micah did not breathe. After a few moments, the man disappeared toward the old barn. Buck jumped from the tree and crossed over the arroyo following the intruder. He stayed off of the path and trailed him from within the undergrowth. Harry stood at the same spot he did on that stormy night weeks earlier. If Buck had his rifle, he would not have hesitated this time in blowing the old foreman's head off. Harry leaned against the building, pulling a pint of whiskey out of his jacket and guzzling the fiery liquid down, tossing the bottle aside as he leaned against the barn. The crazy man was drunk, and in his drunkenness, he had the courage he lacked otherwise. Buck tuned into the man and sucked in Harry's hate and hunger making those passions his own and then turned his head away in disgust - then gunfire followed by oblivion.