Other Tales from the Flashback
The Fields Tinged with Red
It was the inevitability of it which had caught him; the slow, certain advance, like a leopard creeping across the plain; the sliding into the taller grass from the open field—like an alligator into muddy water. Nor was it the stalking velociraptor alone that had held him so transfixed, or, for that matter, the Holstein calf on the other side of the patch, so oblivious and unaware, but, rather, the land and the setting sun itself, the former of which rolled and undulated like an ocean of red-green dunes—like bloody entrails waiting to be read—and the latter of which looked on indifferently, pitilessly, burning and yet cold as the moon. Regardless, he had been spellbound when he should have been focused—like a laser beam—on the sho
