2013 - The Rhapsodist

Page 36

Sound

by jacob wishon It. Decorates facades with a deep red. It’s splash. Wet. Reverbs through the night. Her. Ivory agape below wide open souls. Her shriek. Like a dying banshee. Penetrates through the night. He. With digits outstretched in a feeble attempt. His wail. Clenched and herculean. Pushes through the night. Metal. Still in grasp and now uncocked. It’s blast. A concussive force. Permeates through the night. Him. All is dark. All is gone. All is done. Through the night all is silent.

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