In the muddy light cast from that vast shining disc of alien moon above,
With luminous fog hiding an abyss, perhaps a thousand fathoms deep... or high,
It stoops, head bowed, at the very edge of its rock cornice perch,
While scurrying, grey-scalped minions – parasites and pets – brush beneath its thick knuckles and turn the ground to a shimmering puddle.
It watches the far off citadel, along the forbidden snaking road...
The candle flames and spire rooftops of mankind,
And the scapegoat’s broad, monstrous shoulders roll forward with laboured breaths – or pining sobs – almost as if it can feel sadness.
Author bio: Where to point the finger of blame? Scott Dingley is a writer of dark fiction, increasingly devoted to the drabble...
Scapegoat is part of 101 Fiction issue 2.