Yet they fought death to the last, raining shells upon their attackers, setting the stores on fire, slicing at limbs with swords and scimitars, curved blades from the islands, rope or wire for a garrote. Blood everywhere. Screams, confusion, and the acrid smell of smoke.
There were advantages to being cremated. Lord knows the dead have enough time to think. An obvious advantage was being portable. An urn is easily moved about from house to house. Taken along when a relative moves. Less convenient, the dead wife buried under the apple tree.
Lord, what fools these mortals be! They can’t even get a simple story straight.
Da shifted the pickaxe shaft between his hands and stuck sparks off the curved spike when it punctured the stony surface, and he rocked the embedded spike to break up the surface and then moved along a few inches and repeated and continued and repeated until the line of the shore was etched in the earth.
“You’re next!” coach screams. “He just finished it with a rear naked choke.” Jesus, why am I doing this? My heart’s beating so fast I can’t hear myself breathe. Am I breathing? Breathing is the most important thing. Slow your heart rate.
For the briefest of moments, the panic wells up and threatens to consume me.
Jenna only crosses the footbridge on clear days… She avoids the bridge on bad days, when the world looms gloomy and dark, or fog rolls in with wispy tendrils of despair.
