Dark Fantasy

That's right, gentle readers. The story I used yesterday as an example of the financial end of things, more importantly marks a genre crossover for me into something closer to Dark Fantasy. Here's a sample paragraph from near the beginning of the story:

"And on each trip she would gather shells and little, white stones and bring them back to cast into her pit. With each load of the tiny, white sea-objects, Anna would then squat by the pit like some primitive, wild woman about to give birth in a cave or the open air. She would lean forward, putting part of her weight on to the handle of a sledge hammer she’d also bought for this purpose, once she had realized that she had such a purpose. Then she would methodically raise and smash down the head of the sledgehammer into the contents of the pit – not swinging it, but just raising it up a few inches, then forcing it down, grinding all the stones and shells like one would, if one were using a giant mortar and pestle. Each fall of the hammer tightened her stomach and brought an animal grunt. In a few minutes it would also bring the evening’s tears, which would continue far into the night, mingling with her sweat and even drool from her open mouth, all of it to slide down the handle of the hammer and mingle with the pit’s slurry to make a cold, smoking stew of anguish. Some warm nights she’d collapse next to her grinding work and sleep in the dirt; when the nights were colder, she’d usually make it inside the back door to fall unconscious on the kitchen floor. Usually."