There were four of them, hanging from beams in the barn: the farmer; his wife; a second man, maybe a grown son or a farmhand; and a pre-teen girl, probably a daughter. With the dust in the air and the light coming in the tableau had an otherworldly look to it. The smell, however, was real enough.
He wouldn’t stay here, tonight. He’d search the house, but then he’d leave. Too much bad karma. All over the world people who desperately wanted to live were dying. He didn’t want to be reminded there were those willing to just give up.
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