Flash Fiction: Waste Watcher

A shrill cry echoed in the mist. Kitty opened her eyes from her idle snooze and scanned the tiny back garden. The old stones of her low wall held back the mist in the old forest, save for a few brave tendrils creeping in through the gate.

She heard nothing more; the initial screech had neither echo nor reply. Kitty murmured a lament for whatever poor creature had met its final match. It didn’t sound like a person, but people could loose the strangest sounds when terrified for their life. That was a lesson the mist was often content to teach her, as if she had forgotten the burden she carried.

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