When the people came, they accepted it, accepted the shotgun against the back of the head and when it went off the ruin of his skull and a fine ten gallon hat; accepted the thick noose and feet twitching while the moon watched off the sea. Both were grateful to have had those last few moment of comprehension and peace, and anything that came after was merely the end of the road.
Something from a drawer.
June 8, 2009 by Robin G
Posted in creative implosions | Leave a Comment
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