The Lizard Men of Mars

Flick. Flick. In-and-out. Tongues test the air and taste the tangy texture of man who is about. Stay close to the ground. Do not make a sound. Do not move, else one tempts a hound. Flick. Flick. Closer they come. Hear them hum. Man is on the hunt for the Lizard Men of Mars. Beware the facade of false tranquility. The trails are treacherous, but the treasure is tremendous. Flick. Flick. Hounds snarl for release. Hands are taunt with the leash. Death to the enemy is attuned to the minds of all. Humming ceases. Fighting commences. No quarter is given. The scene is a slaughterhouse of a sickening sight. Flick. Flick. Blood is the overall color, taste and sign of what has prevailed. Long shall it be before another attempt will be made to steal the treasure. Rumors will persist that it can be done, if the wind is right and the sun is down. Heed not the scent that damns the soul. Hold tight to love, which keeps one whole. Dwell not on fighting that leaves scars. Stay clear of the Lizard Men of Mars. Flick. Flick.