Oh, how the mountains have grown of late

The flies tickled. It might have been their feet, the soft brush of tiny claws. It might have been a proboscis, teeth, jaws, or whatever apparatus a fly might possess in place of a mouth. I didn’t much care. I might even have thought that it was a good sign, the tickling, and the fact that I could feel it. And then the man slumped down on the ground beside me, and the flies alighted from my wounds, settling for a moment on the sweeter, ranker meat of my sudden companion.

Oh, how the mountains have grown of late is a short story that grew out of an idea for a title, and written late one night and early into the next morning.

This is the first story to be recorded using a cloned version of the author's voice. Plus, an additional audio version recorded by the author, with no AI.

Pick up Oh, how the mountains have grown of late for a reflective story about the end of days today!