8 Paces

Nice shot, gunslinger. … but I… I’m not gripping this swirling, flowing, and creeping. This crimson pool sinking back into the earth. These heavenly smells are… are leaving me as a cool breeze topples… this buzzing… a fly feasting on my exposed brain. I finally feel horizontal with the globe, her mysteries ultimately shown. Your wager was on the hardened criminal. Me. Why aim to the head? You’ll get the money, but I’ll get the laugh. They all said I was quicker than most. But too slow… today. Now? No, not now. I still have eight paces… till I’m born… again.

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Published in: on April 11, 2008 at 9:46 am  Leave a Comment  

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