Frick, why do I keep defaulting to these images?
I guess I’ll never know. You think. Wait, what won’t I ever know? Ah, forget it. You glance over at Van Ghalta as smoke fills the air. The footsteps grow louder, as do the gunshots. The smoke starts to engulf the room, and groping about for a weapon doesn’t seem to be a viable option anymore. You had a good run (a little over 20,000 words) but now it’s all going to end.
It’s too bad it had to be this short, you think as you pass out because of smoke inhalation.
TO BE CONTINUED…
The Writer's Rack 