The soil is moist. It is sticky. It was crimson a couple of hours ago but now it is black. I see a cockroach making its way through the splinters; trying to avoid patches of the viscous non-flowing fluid to find its rightful edible corpuscle. With a nonchalant poise it moves around in the mess. Stupid thing. Its feeble antennae cannot smell death, but they never miss that elusive scent of a morsel. Ahh! There it is. Nice catch my friend. The overturned jar of frosties just might make your day. Yes, that’s right. Pick it up nice and easy. There you go.
The insect is dead before it knows that my 0.41 Remington slug did its business. It lies there with the other cockroaches that I just murdered. I never miss.
I lift my weary body out of the chair that I had pulled up. My neck hurts. My body hurts. Firing countless rounds a day has taken its toll. Lifting lifeless bodies is no walk in a park either. I ran out of painkillers a long time ago. I don’t need them anymore. Pain is all I have left. It keeps me company when I am stalking my quarries. It has grown on me I must say. A few days more and I’ll be done. I start walking to the next town.
[Intro of something I’m working on.]