deepundergroundpoetry.com

Supernatural Cowboy Sleuth

 
      Prologue
      
      Marcus and Shelly were cozied up on the same side of the worn, red vinyl booth in their favorite Malt-Stop. They greedily sucked on the candy striped straws climbing out of the same chocolate chip malt. The Malt-Stop was bustling with patrons, everyone excitedly chatting, eating, slurping, laughter, and amicably arguing. The air was full of gaiety and bright, afternoon sunshine.
      Marcus stopped sucking on his candy straw and looked at Shelly with a wide grin, his violet eyes glowing with adoration. Large orbs of glimmering emeralds gazed back at him through a thick forest of black lashes. Shelly returned his smile, full pink lips stretched around her own candy straw so she could continue sucking on their chocolatey beverage.
      "You'll get a brain freeze if you don't slow down, Shel," Marcus teased. Shelly paused her gluttonous intake long enough to emit a ditzy giggle before hungrily resuming her slurping. Marcus laughed and shook his head at her careless determination. His laughter quickly faded as he began to smell the pungent aroma of burning hair. He grimaced, nostrils wrinkled against the assault of his olfactory senses. He searched the Malt-Stop for the accompanying smoke and flames., failed to distinguish a source from the crowd.
      "Do you smell burning hair?" he asked Shelly while still looking for the telltale smoke. Shelly finally ceased her incessant slurping, to tell him she didn't smell anything. Before her lips could form the first syllable, her words were stolen by a wretched scream that seemed to be torn from her larynx. Marcus' head shot around to see why she was screaming and found the source of the smoke and odor. Shelly was engulfed in flames, mouth open wide in painful screams. Saliva steaming is wispy tendrils from her tongue and cheeks. Her pale, pretty flesh was bubbling beneath the inferno. Her beautiful blonde tress, now brown and crispy, curled in defeat like over sautĂ©ed onions. Marcus fell from the booth, watching his beloved burn in terrified panic. He was paralyzed by the shock of it all. He desperately wanted to move and help her or, in the least, look away, but he was forced to bear witness to her agony. Too stunned to even complete a thought. Shelly continued to scream. Marcus could sense, rather than see, the diner patrons gathering around their personal tragedy to gape and take pictures. Marcus wished someone would do something, anything! Find a fire extinguisher, turn on the sprinklers, piss on her for fuck's sake. Something to douse the blazing pyre that Shelly had become. Nobody moved to help, just kept stretching their rubber necks to get a better look at the fiery spectacle before them.
      Marcus fainted..


            Chapter One
      Supernatural Cowboy Sleuth

Pale morning light peaked through Marcus' bedroom window. He lay in bed snoring soundly, deep in sleep. The 'old fashion' analog alarm clock urgently swung it's (pendulum) against it's tinny bells, a half second out of time with the chimes and beeps of his cellphone ringtone. He dreamed on oblivious to the cacophony surrounding him. Though, his third shift neighbor above him, was not as deaf to the sounds of morning as Marcus. The unseen neighbor began to stomp loudly on his floor, shaking Marcus' ceiling fan; determined to succeed where the alarm clock and phone had failed.  Marcus heard this distant thumping beyond his dreams and followed it to the waking world, eyes slowly coming open. He craned his head to find the blasted banshee of an alarm clock. Spotting it through dawn blind squinted eyes, he knocked it from the bedside table with a (sleep chemical)heavy hand. The endless ringing finally quieted, the fed up neighbor's thunderous soon followed. All that remained to break the silence were the soft melodious bells tolling from his cellphone. Harbingers of a furious message.
Marcus glanced through the increasingly angry texts from Dr. P. the pharmacy manager. He couldn't be bothered to move, no matter how angry Dr. P. was, Marcus knew he would understand. Though he did feel bad about not calling earlier to say he wouldn't be coming in for the rest of the week. He conjured up enough energy to dial back Dr. P. The phone rang once, before connecting to the angry man that signed Marcus' pay checks.
"You are an hour and a half late, Marc! I'm up to my eyebrows in refills and embarrassing questions!"
Marcus chuckled, knowing full well what I busy morning alone in the pharmacy felt like.
"I'm really sorry, Dr. P, I should have called much sooner.." Marcus began.
"Oh, you don't say?" interrupted Dr. P, but Marcus chose to ignore this sarcastic quip. He didn't feel much like verbally sparring with his mentor today.
"But I was exhausted from watching Shelly spontaneously combust yesterday afternoon." he continued, "So I'll probably be out the rest of the week."
Marcus expected shock and condolences and to give some, seeing as Shelly was Dr. P's niece. In fact, he was quite surprised the Pharmacy was open at all today. Marcus really felt bad that no one had told Shelly's favorite Uncle of her untimely demise and that he had to be the bearer of bad news.
"Who's Shelly?" Dr. P inquired.
Marcus pulled the phone away from his ear to look at it in disbelief.
What kind of sick joke is this old coot up to? Marcus thought.
He replaced the phone to his ear and inhaled deeply.
"Dr. P, you of all people know who Shelly is. I know it's extremely difficult to accept and I wish I didn't have to do this over the phone, but Shelly and I were sitting at Walt's Malt-Stop yesterday and she just…" Marcus couldn't bring himself to go on. He didn't know how to explain such an absurd situation. He opened his mouth to continue as best he could when he was cut off by a loud guffaw of laughter. Marcus was started a bit by the odd reaction from Dr. P.
"Alright, I get it. I was young once, you stayed up too late with a girl, slept through your alarm and now you're desperately trying to convince me of a ridiculous story so you won't get in trouble. I don't need it, I just need you in here and working. Hurry up or they will be trouble." Dr. P quickly disconnected his end of the line, leaving Marcus pissed off and even more confused. He shook his head.
It's gotta be the shock. He didn't know how to take the news. I fainted, he laughed. To each their own way of dealing with tragedy.
He tossed his phone on to the bedside table and let his head fall back to the pillow, closing his eyes.
In only a few seconds he was back to snoring loudly, lost to the haunted dreamscape of his subconscious.
                                          *******
Marcus stood in an endless maze, surrounded by a thousand memories of Shelly. Each, a hologram reliving different moments they had shared together. He cautiously walked to the closest image on his left. It was a holo of the first day he had met Shelly. He saw a hologram of himself standing behind the pharmacy counter. He remembered the day well..
                                          *******
Marcus was five years younger, so recently employed by Dr. Phitzpatryk that his lab coat was still stiff with starch. He stood, back turned to his first customer, desperately searching for their prescription bag.  He leafed through the crisp, white bags several times looking for Ma. Wachowski. The name that the elderly woman,
 (long, red finger nails tap, tap, tapping impatiently away at the counter),
had said she filled her prescription under Yesterday. She had said, 'Yesterday', about a thousand times to Marcus' back, implying, "Why the Hell isn't is ready TODAY?"
Marcus leafed through the bags a final time before turning around slowly. He inhaled deeply, so nervous he thought he might vomit all over the impatient woman.
"Ma'am, I really am sorry about the wait and the mix up. I cannot seem to find a prescription for Mariah Wachowski either in our computer system or hanging here on our bag rail. I could take it now and have it filled for you in about 30 minutes?" he explained in one rushing breath.
The elderly woman was obviously displeased.
"Young man, I do not have 30 minutes to wait when I filled my prescription Yesterday. I have been filling these same prescriptions, the same day, at the same pharmacy for the last three and a half decades. Don't you tell me you 'can't find it'. Nonsense, where is Dr. Phitzpatryk?" she asked Marcus angrily. Before he could form the first syllable of response she was knocking on the counter heavily and calling for the pharmacy manager by his first name.
"Percy! Percy, come out here and reprimand this boy! Percy!" she shouted over Marcus' shoulder.
She gave Marcus a triumphant glare and started impatiently tap, tap, tapping again on the counter.
Marcus wanted to laugh at the spectacle that she had made of herself, especially since Dr. P was out on lunch/errands for the rest of the afternoon. Customers from across the aisle were stealing glances at the pissed off elderly woman screaming for her Percy. Marcus watched them from the domed mirror hanging from the ceiling. Some onlookers snickered into their hands, others looked around confused at all the ruckus. Marcus bit his lip to fight back nervous laughter. When he felt he had enough self control to speak he solemnly informed Ms. Wachowski that Dr. Phitzpatryk wasn't currently in the pharmacy.
Irritated displeasure deepened the crow's feet around Ms. Wachowski's small green eyes; she ceased her incessant tapping at the counter, turned on a quick heel, and huffed away.
Marcus let go of his laughter as soon as he could no longer see the upset elderly woman and was sure she was far enough away that she wouldn't hear him. It bubbled out of him it quiet fits, nearly sounding like silenced sobs. Marcus collected himself and returned to his duties as a new pharmacist.
He walked behind the menagerie of pill dispensers, grabbing a cloth from his lab coat pocket and began wiping away dust that wasn't really there. He was soon lost in the back and forth movements of his light tidying, enjoying the calm after the storm.
Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding. A rapid succession of the counter bell being tolled by his next customer broke him from his trance. Pocketing the cloth, he walked around the wall of drugs and pasted a smile to his mouth. Before he was able to use that smile in polite greeting, he was struck blind by the most beautiful fairy woman he has ever seen.
She was petite, small boned, and nearly consumed by a mass of blonde, curly tress. Ringlets spun from gold cascaded down her tiny, rounded shoulders, framing her pixie face perfectly. She was dazzling emerald green eyes and pearly white teeth beneath full garnet lips. She stood looking up at him with a return smile and those eyes sparkling like huge gems in the afternoon sun. "Hi," she chirped in the most melodious voice, "My Grandmother, said you refuse to fill her prescription? I'm sure that's not the case though. She's senile. "
Marcus realized Ms. Wachowski was standing next to the fairy princess.
He tried to hold onto his smile as his heart dropped down to his feet.
Thought I was done with this fiasco. He thought to himself. Turning his attention back to the lovely new creature, he widened his smile to each ear.
"Um, not exactly. I looked for a prescription she said she had filled under the name Mariah Wachowski and I can't seem to find the prescription bag, or a record of the prescription. I had offered.." Marcus was silenced by a wavy of her delicate hand.
"I'm sorry for all the confusion. Mariah Wachowski is her favorite Daytime TV Star. Her prescription is for Susan Scythe." The fairy princess explained.
Marcus gave her a sympathetic smile, nodded and turned around to search his prescription rail  for Su. Scythe. He found it quickly and easily, plucked the crisp, white bag from the rail scanned it, taxed it, and handed it over to the pretty granddaughter.  She swiped her credits card, placed her pale, little finger on the prints scanner and the transaction was complete.
"Sorry for all of the confusion. Have a wonderful day, Ladies." Marcus said sweetly.
She smiled her gratitude showing off every perfect pearl of tooth and walked away with her grandmother by her side. He watched them until they disappeared inside the pharmacy's aisles.
                                          ******
Marcus fell out of the Holo memory, smashing his face against the floor. He was nauseous and blinded by silver spots blinking in and out of his vision. Sorrow and anger beat him down like emotional goons sent from a Lonely heart. He wanted to curse all the world, but could only muster a wimpy, choked sob. He curled into himself, holding his knees hard against his chest and cried.


                                          ******
Reginald "Reggie" Lincoln was trapped in his tiny, beige cubicle, sitting hunched over his Call List. He stared at the thin lines of numbers leading down, down, down to the very bottom of the page. Three columns, twenty-three rows of eleven digit phone numbers. Little black magick sigils that connected him to irritated homeowners all across the gods forsaken plane. He sighed as he poked the numbers of his next call into the Dialer. He felt his cellphone vibrate in his pocket. Reggie glanced around, making sure the floor manager wasn't near by before he inconspicuously removed his phone from his pocket. The ringing in his ear gave way to a familiar recorded message of his caller being unavailable. He jabbed the end button on his Dialer with his right hand as he double tapped the screen of his cellphone with his left. The screen became alight with his favorite picture of his ex-girlfriend, Rochelle. There were three notifications from various games he played.
Reggie noticed the floor manager looking his way and quickly went about dialing another number into his hateful, little machine. He was once again answered be another hateful, little machine. The too familiar greeting letting him know his caller could not be reached faded into a series a three quick beeps and he was free to leave his scripted spiel without being rudely interrupted by an uninterested customer. Reggie let the call end on his laptop screen and signed out of his Work Profile on the Company Network. He cited: Lunch; threw his sweaty headset onto his gum wrapper littered desk and swiveled out of his chair. As he headed for the break room, he whistled a tuneless jingle happy to be free for his Lunch Hour. Though he was due back to the Dialer in 28 minutes.

                                    **************
Marcus ran through the maze of a thousand holo memories searching for the thundering beacon that would lead him back to Reality. After what seemed like an eon Marcus finally saw the tiniest pin-prick of light in the far distance. He dashed passed the recreated Shelly's, each phantom visage furiously clinging to his heart. Tears threated to return, but his desperate need to be home dried up the bottomless well of his tear ducts. The Light grew the faster he ran until he was enveloped in the blinding white of Freedom.
                                    ***************
Marcus jolted awake with a fierce migraine. He wiped away the crusted drool from his chin on his pillow case and propped himself up on his forearms. Someone was pounding on his front door. Loud and insistent. He didn't want to answer it, but rolled out of bed anyway. He stumbled toward the banging rhythm of some persistent stranger.
Marcus stuck his eye to the peephole, failing to see anybody standing on the other side.  The pounding resumed, startling Marcus.
"Who is it?" he called to the stranger.
"S.C.P.D."  they answered, flashing a bronze badge in front of the peephole, "Detective Mocroni. I'm looking for a Marcus Tyrne. "
Marcus laughed, "Yeah right, Detective Macaroni and I'm the cheesy suspect." he joked.
"Detective MO-croni."  the gruff voice behind the door growled.
Marcus opened his door as far as the security chain would stretch. He peeked around the door into the hallway of his apartment building. He saw the origin of the insistent pounding and gruff voice. A tall, denim clad cowboy was standing to the left of Marcus' apartment door.  His arms were crossed over his chest and he was leaning casually against the wall.
"I'm Marcus Tyrne." Marcus revealed to Det. Mocroni.
The Cowboy sleuth gracefully pushed away from the wall with a twitch of his considerable bicep.



He covered the distance between them in one stride of his long legs, a crooked smile trying to find room on his usually scowl covered face.
"Great, then you are my cheesy suspect. I'd like to ask you a few questions about the incident you witnessed yesterday in the Malt-Stop. May I come in?" he asked Marcus.
Marcus closed the door so he could release the security chain before quickly opening the door enough to let in the Detective.
Mocroni stood in the dim hallway boots, buckle, and all. "Cheesy suspect." he greeted with a slight tip of his ten gallon hat. Marcus couldn't help but laugh.
"Detective Macaroni, please come in." Marcus moved behind the door and gestured to the detective to make entrance.
The spaghetti western sleuth sauntered over the threshold and made himself at home.

"So, Detective, how can I help you?" Marcus asked.
The Detective molded himself into the cheap, faux leather loveseat. Long legs sprawled under the table, arms folded behind his head. He looked up at Marcus with a curt nod.
"Yeah, Coffee." he finally responded .
Marcus could not believe the detective's behavior was so casual, especially if he was here to ask questions about Shelly's horrible demise. He gave the comfortable cowboy one last look before turning to enter the small kitchenette and brew a pot of coffee.
"How do you take it?" Marcus called as he set two mugs on the counter, "Black?"
"With one teaspoon of sugar, thanks." replied the detective.
Marcus finished pouring coffee into the mismatched mugs and carried them into the living room. He handed the detective his, then settled down into the well-worn recliner opposite the love seat. Detective Mocroni leaned forward slightly to sip from his mug then set it down on the table. Marcus stared at him, ignoring his own coffee. He wanted to start the conversation, but couldn't decide how.
"Marcus," began the detective, saving Marcus from his anxious introspection.
"About the incident yesterday afternoon, the report indicates you were the lone witness to an act of arson in the Malt-Stop. Can you tell me more about that?"
Marcus cocked his left eyebrow in confusion. This cowboy detective was overly nonchalant about a case of spontaneous human combustion. And 'lone witness? There had to have been at least twenty people in the Malt-Stop yesterday. Everyone of them rushing to spectate the pretty girl on fire.  Marcus was becoming angry at the lack of detective work that had been going into Shelly's death.
"What do you mean lone witness to an act of arson? Me and every patron in that shabby ice cream parlor were watching my girlfriend burn to death. Shelly and I were sitting in our regular booth, sipping on a chocolate chip malt; when all of the sudden I smelled smoke. Looked all over for it, turns out it was the smoke coming from Shelly as she was consumed by random flames right next to me." Marcus recounted the previous events in a rush of breath. He challenged the detective with his eyes to call Shelly an act of arson again. Detective Mocroni remained unphased by Marcus' cold stare.
"And who is Shelly?" asked the detective.
"Marcus flinched at the sound of her blessed name coming from profane lips. He had to restrain himself from demanding the detective not ever utter a syllable of her name again.
"Shelly," Marcus whispered through gritted teeth, "Has been the love of my life for the last five and a half years. She is Rochelle LeAnne Wachowski, niece to my boss, Dr. P. She's 5'1'', barely, blonde curls down to her tight ass, eyes: glittering green emeralds and a smile brighter than the sun. She was.. Is my absolute everything. I was going to ask her to marry me."
Marcus shook his head before placing it in his hands. He wiped away a few tears that fell down his cheek and looked around his apartment.
 There were a hundred different pictures of him and Shelly all over the apartment. Half a decade being a couple catalogued in 5x7 framed memories.
Marcus glanced above the detective to the small shelf that held his spelling bee trophy from grade school and his favorite picture of Shelly from their first date. Her blonde curls blown over her face, smile wide as the horizon as she laughed at Marcus for taking a picture with a film camera, like a caveman she said. He eyes only settled on dust and the trophy.
Marcus leaped from his recliner and scrambled into the loveseat next to the Detective. He frantically searched the small shelf and behind the loveseat desperate to find the picture.
The Cowboy Sleuth watched with calm perplexity as Marcus rushed around his apartment looking for all the small things that made up his life with Shelly. Her shampoo and conditioner were absent from the shower, her clothes and make up were gone from the bedroom, even her favorite bottle of wine, 2/3 full was no where to be found. Marcus stopped to catch his breath, standing in the middle of the kitchen, tears threatening to overwhelm him.
"What the fuck is going on?!" he sobbed.
The Detective stood up from the loveseat and walked over to Marcus to pat him on the back. He gently lead Marcus back to the loveseat, they both sat down and waited in relative silence. The detective sat patiently at Marcus' side. Marcus sniffled and wiped his cheeks every few minutes or so, but couldn't quite bring himself together. Though he loathed to cry in front of this frontier front man. He inhaled deeply, finally finding  a small piece of calm he could hold onto.
"I'm so confused," Marcus confessed, "Yesterday, I was celebrating our fifth year anniversary with the love of my life, engagement ring waiting at the bottom of a chocolate chip malt. Suddenly, she's screaming, on fire. Nothing but smoke and ash next to me. I can see it all so clearly. Her skin becoming lava, bubbling and sloughing off her bones, hair crisp and brown even though it should be soft and blonde. The worst was watching the saliva steam up from her tongue as she screamed and screamed and screamed…"
Marcus jumped up from his seat and grabbed his head. He turned to the cowboy, oddly smiling, surely close to a break in sanity.
"And you know what I did? Do you know how much help the man who was going to marry her, was? I asked someone to piss on her before I passed out cold on the floor. And she burned. Just burned, while I did nothing."
      Sobs broke from Marcus as he collapsed back to the loveseat. His body shook under the weight of his sorrow. Unable to make sense of the last twenty four hours, he broke down in front of the cowboy sleuth. Detective Mocroni pulled the broken man into his embrace, rubbing his hand up and down Marcus' back in attempt at consoling him.
      "Marcus… Marcus, It's alright. I'm here to help," whispered the Detective, "Do you think you can hold yourself together long enough to hear me out. What I have to tell you might put some of this weirdness into perspective."
      Marcus continued to sob a moment longer, before sucking back as much snot into his nostrils as he could manage. He wiped away the rest on his arm and looked into the detective's steel gray eyes. He looked like a mess and knew it, but didn't care.
      "I'm sorry, Detective…"
      "Call me, Leo, if you'd like." the detective interrupted.
      "I'm sorry.. Leo, but I don't see how there is anything you could say to help make sense of watching my girlfriend burn to ash and then, seemingly, never exist. Just saying that makes me sound like an insane moron. Believing it makes me an insane moron. What could help that?"
      The detective sat quietly, collecting his thoughts. Finally he sighed and looked at Marcus.
      "When I was a kid. I had this inexplicable experience. It was similar to your own, but still much different. Back then, I brushed it off as heat stroke. Too much desert sun, not enough gallons in my hat," Leo paused to tap the top of his ten gallon cowboy hat and wink at Marcus. Though, Marcus wasn't in the most jovial of moods, he still laughed.
      "So what is this similar but different experience?" Marcus asked after Humor was usurped by Curiosity.
      The Cowboy leaned back against the loveseat and gestured for Marcus to do that same.
      "Well, get comfortable and let me wind this tale 'round your ear."
      Marcus obliged.
      
                                                                                 *********
      
      Young Leonardo Esyes stood at the demolished fence of his father's cattle ranch. His skin was tight and red from being cooked in the unobstructed afternoon sun while he busily mended the boards. Thaddeus, his eldest brother, drove through it with his brand new truck early this afternoon. He and his friends had taken it out the night before to celebrate his twenty-first birthday. They'd all been drowned in top shelf rye and hanging out the windows  as he sped home. Leonardo counted them lucky that he wasn't cleaning up any body parts along with the broken boards. The King Brat was currently nursing his hangover and being fretted upon by his anxious mother. Being handed mimosas, bloody mary's, chocolates and a tower of exotic fruit; all in the name of recovery.
      Meanwhile, Leonardo was forced to toil away, reconstructing the damage Tyrant Thaddeus left in his precious wake.
      "Bastard brat of a first born," Leonardo mumbled to the searing sand. He bent to retrieve a fresh board to perfectly place atop the fresh posts. He'd always pay the closest attention to detail. He figures this is one reason Papa assigns all the hand work to him.
      "God forbid they be a fraction of a millimeter too low."
        Since his brothers were good for nothing more than partying, (Except Ignacio, the youngest, who was the most tender spirit and the most fragile person in Leonardo's life), Little Leo was left with being the reliable farm hand.
      He took a nail and accurately placed it on the carefully measured mark and the board and hammered it home. Securing the board to both posts in a quick minute. Leonardo placed his fists on his hips and took great pride in his work, menial as it was. He did believe in one thing "God" had told him, "Hard labor builds strong character." He was glad not to be a lush pussy like his imbecile predecessors. He wiped the sweat from his brow and bent to pick up another board. His fingertips lightly caressing a pale scorpion before he realized it's existence and jerked his hand away.
      "Oh shit!" he yelled stumbling a few paces backwards, craving distance between him and the pale predator. The venomous creature scuttled across his work pile. Leonardo tried to shoo it away, but dared not get any closer, knowing the scorpion's white armor meant he was one of the deadliest. The scorpion halted it's stroll above the boards and faced Leonardo, pincers raised in challenge. He took a three steps back just to be safe.
      "Go on, get!" he yelled waving his hands at the scorpion. He looked around for something to throw, but all his tools were near the woodpile and there wasn't a rock anywhere to be found. Leonardo had no choice, but to stand there and wait him out. If he ran back inside to get away from the little buggy Papa would probably make him eat it. He and the awful arachnid settled in for their staring contest. Leonardo's eyes never moved away from the lethal creature. They stayed that way for a desert millennia, eyes locked and drying in the sun. Sweat poured from Leonardo's every pore, his throat was sandy. The scorpion never faltered, refusing to leave.
      Suddenly, the sun exploded, everything flashed in and out of focus until Leonardo was surrounding by emptiness. Endless miles of blinding white nothing. He raised his hands to move them in front of his face, but couldn't see them either. Just as panic settled in, so did the familiar landscape of his life. The world replaced right before his eyes, with one small difference, everything: the boards, the fence, the scorpion, the ranch; had shifted roughly an arm's length to the left. Leonardo was sure that he hadn't moved anything but his arms, boots still firm on the ground.
      "What.. The.. Hell!" he exclaimed in the same moment  the sun exploded a second time, returning him unto the Nothingness. This time he could physically feel the absence of his existence. It was the worst pain he had ever, or would ever feel. He tried to scream, but couldn't make a sound. He could feel his lungs fail to inhale what oxygen wasn't present.
      "Did the scorpion sting me. Is this death?" he wondered to himself. Unable to answer, he watched as the Nothingness expanded, retracted, fluxed, and flowed. Eventually fading into dull colors and fuzzy lines. Leonardo remained still as the world returned to focus. Everything replaced into it's original position. He stood in disbelief and watched as the scorpion fell from the top of the pile and disappeared into the desert heat.
      Leonardo slowly walked back to the fence, making sure to keep an eye for the deadly apparition. When he was sure that he was once again alone, he retrieved a board and perfectly fit it onto the posts. He was determined to finish the fence before sundown. He worked quickly, barely pausing to take a breath, achieving what he had set his mind to.
      
                                                           ***********************************
Written by endlessgame23 (W. Edith Gilead)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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