Black Death

A scorpion will never face it’s own stinger. A bear will never maul itself.   Why then do some men have wounds they wont talk about?

It’s not always the arrow that kills you, it’s the infection.  Gangrene is a slow death, spreading slowly but surely.  It loves an open wound and marches it’s death brigade ever so gradually to the heart.

The unforgiven has a unique gaze his eyes.  It’s says he’s longed for the barrel of his revolver.  Looking at him is like staring right through a bullet hole.  And he knows the choice is simple, cut off the trigger finger that betrayed his love, or just welcome that slow but certain death.  

The path to survival is clear, but he just hasn’t decided yet.