Blood Like Honey

The stone once held no shade other than dirt and salt from sea spray. But something happened there, in the dead of night. The gulls' song tasted like lemon pie against the moonlight.

That was when they came. That was when a red scream filled the dark and silenced the gulls for a time. That was when the stone gritted against the cold like frost, crowned and coated by something loud and ripe.

By the time the sun rose, the head atop the stone oozed blood like honey down the steep slopes of the stone's sides, enveloping it in a warm shroud.