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They just stood there not moving, not reacting to what was happening, like they were already dead… until the Tommy-gun’s bullets hit them and blood gushed from their frail emaciated bodies plugging the gravel below the putrid train with strings of murky blood.
A preening sadistic drug kingpin destroys anyone in his path for power, lust, and wealth… until someone opens the enclosure, and the monstrous gator scrambles out to become the alpha of the pool.
A lifeline during the Depression, the supply boat brings necessities and mail… unless you are alone, pregnant, have a toddler, not a penny to your name, and the ration book is late this month.
The backyard on Chanticleer Lane, a happy place, for three fun-filled little boys with their shenanigans… until they huddle, unashamed, on the steps of the fort with tears streaking their cheeks for their hearts have been broken.
The Emerald Coast Gulf beaches are vacation spots for visitors who outnumber the gulls and pelicans on bright sunny days… unless U Boats surface as they pass the Florida coast on their way to oil rigs in the Gulf during WW II, and a desperate man shoots his rifle at them.
The water of the salt lagoons at Guerande, France evaporates to reveal the snowy crystals of salt that the paludiers rake to be bottled and sold around the world… unless one salt pan is deep enough to bury six marauding Nazis where they will be preserved, encased in salt.
Guerande, the little medieval village with high ramparts protecting it, is almost safe from the horrors of the war… unless there is a traitor, a Judas, in its midst.
