A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend: "The Prairie and the Darkness"

A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend (A Serialized Novel), #7

Science Fiction & Fantasy, Horror, Fiction & Literature, Action Suspense
Cover of the book A Dinosaur Is A Man's Best Friend: "The Prairie and the Darkness" by Wayne Kyle Spitzer, Hobb's End Books
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Author: Wayne Kyle Spitzer ISBN: 9781386465737
Publisher: Hobb's End Books Publication: August 30, 2018
Imprint: Language: English
Author: Wayne Kyle Spitzer
ISBN: 9781386465737
Publisher: Hobb's End Books
Publication: August 30, 2018
Imprint:
Language: English

"It's okay," he said, softly, gently. "I know you belong to him. Like I said, we just got—carried away. That's all."

She lay against his chest in silence for what seemed a long time.

"I don't know who I belong to anymore," she said.

And soon she slept and dreamed once again—in which she found herself making love to her husband in the shitty trailer house in Anchor Rock … which morphed into the ramshackle house in Lonepine and Will; which bled into the tent with Sammy and the vision … a vision to which she returned, lost, wandering, until she found the man in the dirty bandana. Until they, too, were making love, or a perversion of it, and she knew not in truth who she even was anymore, but sensed that she had become not just a woman but a focusing point, an epitome, a river of menstrual blood as dark as it was unpredictable—the mother and whore to the entire world.

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"It's okay," he said, softly, gently. "I know you belong to him. Like I said, we just got—carried away. That's all."

She lay against his chest in silence for what seemed a long time.

"I don't know who I belong to anymore," she said.

And soon she slept and dreamed once again—in which she found herself making love to her husband in the shitty trailer house in Anchor Rock … which morphed into the ramshackle house in Lonepine and Will; which bled into the tent with Sammy and the vision … a vision to which she returned, lost, wandering, until she found the man in the dirty bandana. Until they, too, were making love, or a perversion of it, and she knew not in truth who she even was anymore, but sensed that she had become not just a woman but a focusing point, an epitome, a river of menstrual blood as dark as it was unpredictable—the mother and whore to the entire world.

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