A powerful tale from Steve Tanham.
In response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt.
Well Hung – #writephoto
It had started that most miserable of days, when, sodden with the constant June downpour, he had lost his way and found himself in a dark valley.
Ahead of him was the strange hill. The second he saw it, the hill reminded him of the head of a bird of prey. But, before he could focus on it–as though that was not yet allowed–he lost his footing and found himself in the mud, gazing upwards at where the ominous hill of the head had been, but seeing only the grazing bull; the real bull; the huge black bull that was anything but fanciful; the bull whose gaze suddenly shimmered, revealing an image of the dark legs of a man standing, immobile and deathly, on a sculpture of forged iron.
He shivered, not knowing why… Then he screamed as…
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