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Deathbed	By : MadameManga Category: WWF/WWE > General Views: 2323 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrities of WWE/WWF. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
This story is very loosely inspired by the plot of the opera “The Flying Dutchman”. I’ve cast a number of familiar people in the roles; they are not intended to be seen as their real selves, but as actors playing parts. All recognizable characters are the property of WWE, and no infringement is intended. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only.
Written in 2001.
Deathbed

by Madame Manga
“All right,” said Deadman, grinning ear to ear. “I got you, baby. You are all mine!” With another kiss, he ravished my mouth, sliding his tongue past my lips and thrusting it hard in the moist interior, his caresses as lustful as they had ever been.
I pulled away for a moment, then returned the kiss with trembling lips. He was my husband—the thought made me shake with both gladness and trepidation. A man who had served Satan for fifty years; the most vital lover I had ever had, though his body was dead; and I was bound to him for life.
“You love me?” he said exultantly.
“Yes…I love you…”
“Ain’t you happy, Irene? You look kinda queer.”
“I…it’s just sinking in, I guess…” The priest lay flat, obviously about to pass out, and Papa sprawled in the dust with his mouth half open, beginning to stir but still limp and helpless. “Thank you, Father.”
The only light, though it had to be near dawn by now, came from the burning garage and barn, and the air was thick with smoke, hiding the stars. “It’s strange. Everything’s been so strange.” I embraced my husband and held my ear to his silent chest. “Your name is Luke?”
“Yeah, just plain ol’ Luke. Never mind callin’ me that—I probably wouldn’t even turn around if I heard it. I’ve been Deadman so long, and it makes the most sense anyhow.” Papa groaned from the ground; I kept a tight clutch on my husband. “I gotta admit it don’t feel much like a regular weddin’. I know what it needs—we need some goddamn music to celebrate.”
Deadman reached into my father’s Range Rover and turned the keys that he had left in the ignition. The radio went on and he rolled the dial to an FM station. The throaty hum of an electric guitar boomed from the speakers.
“Yeah, that’s a good one,” remarked the rider with a grin. “You know, maybe I should’ve gotten killed in the war a couple times over, but I’m glad I didn’t miss rock’n’roll.” He grabbed me and danced with me, lifting my feet clear of the ground.
“All right now…baby, it's all right now

All right now…baby, it's all right now…”

“Damn straight it’s all right,” remarked Deadman. “I got my freedom, I got me a bike, and I got me a woman to hold on in back. What the hell else do I need?” He laughed, the sound falling through the smoky air, and my father groaned again.
The radio faded into another song, a quieter one sung in harmony.
“I close my eyes

Only for a moment and the moment's gone

All my dreams

Pass before my eyes, a curiosity

Dust in the wind

All they are is dust in the wind

Dust in the wind

Everything is dust in the wind…”

By the end of the song we stood silent, holding on to each other and slowly swaying. The station went to a commercial and Deadman turned the radio off. “OK, darlin’. Time to go. Pop’s wakin’ up, so he can take care of himself.”
“Where are we going to go?”
“I dunno.” He raised his head and took a sniff of the air. “Sun’ll come up soon. I’ll head west, I think, and we’ll find a motel. Someplace they don’t know me. I got enough cash on me to last a while.”
“I have a little money with me.”
“How about headin’ out to California, hey? Want to see the ocean?”
“Yes, I do.” I anticipated the sunrise; I wanted to see my husband’s face in the full light of day. Dusk, electricity, kerosene lamps and firelight: I knew him only in the dark.
Papa stirred and sat up, knuckling his good eye. “Are you all right, Papa? Can you drive?” He didn’t answer, but nodded his head. “You can take the Father to…well, where should he go?”
“There’s a doc in town. If he heads back east, he’ll find it easy.”
“Don’t worry about the police, Papa. Tell them you didn’t find me, just my car. Maybe they’ll believe I’m dead.” He got up and stood swaying for a moment, then went to his car, climbed in and started the engine. Going to the window to say goodbye to him, I rested my arm on the sill and he grabbed me by the wrist.
“Come with me now, honey.” He had a low, furious tone. “This charade is over. Ah’m takin’ you home.”
“No, Papa.”
“Not another word, honey. You get in the car.” He leaned over, still holding my wrist, and opened the front passenger door. “Now.” His purple-black eye lent his face a peculiarly clownish aspect.
“I will not! Have you listened to anything that’s gone on here? “
“Child, get in the car!”
“Now you just hold on there,” said Deadman evenly. “That woman’s my wife.”
“No, she’s not!” spat my father. “That was not a legal marriage! This is my daughter, and she’s coming home with me!”
“You’re not taking my wife from me, Papa or not.” Deadman reached out for me, broke Papa’s grip on my arm and pulled me away from the Range Rover. “She’s vowed before God to be true to me, and I’m going to hold her to it.” He looked at me. “Get on my bike, Irene.”
“You don’t even call her by her right name! She is NOT your wife, you ruffian! You’ve drugged her and raped her and she doesn’t even realize it yet! Ah will NEVER let you take her!”
Deadman gave me a gentle push towards the bike. “Go and get on, darlin’.”
“Stop!” Papa shouted. “Don’t do it, honey!”
“Papa, please…he IS my husband. In my eyes at least.” I began to back toward the bike. “And in God’s, I believe.”
“No!” Papa jumped out of the Range Rover and started for me; Deadman blocked his way.
“Just get back in the car and go on into town, Pop,” he said, his voice gaining a dangerous edge. “Yer startin’ to get on my bad side.”
“Ah…will…NOT…let…you…take…my…daughter,” hissed my father. “Never, you dirty biker scumbag! Ah’ll see you in hell first!”
“What you plannin’ to do about it?” the rider inquired. He held up one huge hand and slowly closed it into a fist. “If I gotta pop you another one, Pop, I guarantee I ain’t gonna pull the shot this time.”
“Please don’t hurt him!” I begged. “Just take me out of here!”
“I dunno, Irene. Maybe I ought to teach him a lesson, hey?” His eyes, when he looked around at me, were blazing. “We better clear this up once and for all!”
“That’s my father! Don’t hurt him, or…”
“What?” he began in a challenging tone, then saw my face. “Irene?”
“If you hit him again, Deadman—”
“He’s a thug. A hoodlum. White trash!” seethed Papa. “Threatening me like that!”
“Aw, dammit!” shouted Deadman. “I’m sorry I have to offer to fight him, woman. But he’s been askin’ for it ever since he got here!”
“Maybe he has, but he’s still my Papa! Papa, please, just get in your car and go.”
“Ah won’t, honey! Ah’d never be able to live with myself! You know what he’s going to do to you! Use you, degrade you with his filthy carcass until he’s tired of you, then throw you aside like a rag! He doesn’t love you! All he wants is your body—he’s an animal!”
“OK, I’ve had enough of this crap,” said Deadman, and grabbed my father by the front of his shirt. “I am gonna whip your ass, Pop, and don’t say you didn’t have it coming!”
“Ah dare you to hit me in front of my daughter, you dirty thug!”
“No!” I seized Deadman’s elbow. “He’s not well! He’s had two heart attacks!”
“Then he shouldn’t go mouthin’ off to ME!” Easily wrenching out of my hands, he swung and socked my father in the jaw. Papa went flying and landed hard on his back. Deadman strode up and stood over him, boot raised, his long hair hiding his face.
“You see? You see?” Papa shrieked, hand to his face. “He’s an animal!” My husband kicked him hard in the ribs. “Augghh!”
“You’ll kill him! STOP!” I lunged at Deadman and held on to him with both arms.
Papa rolled away and staggered to his feet, covered with dust. His face was swelling and purpling to match the black eye. “Trash! Scum! All you understand is what you can HIT! How long will it be before you start beating HER?”
My husband’s muscles swelled with fury and he shook me off. I grabbed at him again and he shoved me away; I fell to the ground and he sprang at my father.
Papa backpedaled, pulling his jacket aside and yanking at his shoulder holster. Deadman came at him, his broad back blocking my view of my father for a moment.
“Papa!” I shouted. “No—that won’t kill him! You’ll only make him angrier! Don’t—!”
With one hand Deadman seized Papa by the throat. I screamed, trying to scramble up. Deadman heaved Papa into the air and held him out at arm’s length, a yard clear of the ground. My hand bumped something in the dust—my fallen purse. Papa’s face flushed red, his eyes bulging and his feet kicking impotently in the air.
“STOP!” I screamed. “Please!” Grabbing up my purse, I felt the weight of the gun inside. Deadman paid no attention to me, for his face had transformed with rage once more, his eyes ablaze with hideous, acid, hellish green.
I saw his fingers tighten on Papa’s throat and Papa’s face turn purple, his lips open and gasping for breaths that he could not draw into his lungs. His hands clawed uselessly at Deadman’s arm.
“PLEASE!” I howled. “My love, stop!” My husband ignored me. “You’re killing him! You’re killing my Papa!”
Deadman turned his horrible eyes to me for a moment, his teeth clenched in an evil, lustful grin. “Oh, no shit?” he hissed. “I reckon I am.” He licked his lips.
At that moment I could see nothing of him but the Hellrider, the corrupted, demonic flesh-eater I had known he would become. That I had loosed upon the world. I yanked the gun out of my purse and let the purse fall.
My gun went off as if by itself. I had no conscious thought that induced me to pull the trigger, only pure horror and fear.
Although I hadn’t even taken a fix, the bullet hit its target—my husband. It struck his upraised forearm and he lost hold of Papa, who fell to the ground in a sprawl.
Three more bullets went straight into the rider’s body as he stood sideways to me, hitting upper arm, shoulder, hip. He grunted as each slug struck him, but his focus only slowly came away from my father to fix on me.
“Irene?” Deadman clutched his injured right arm. Shock gave a little humanity to his face; he stared at me, green fire dancing in his eyes. “What are you doin’, woman?” The blood sprang from his wounds, soaking his coat and jeans with a cascade of dark red, the streams raining from his outstretched fingers into the dust.
The realization streamed over me as well—the necromantic spells that animated his body would not stop the bleeding this time, the holes would not close and vanish. He seemed dazed, unbelieving. The way Roy had been when I had shot him with the same gun, the last act of a marriage based on treachery.
What was I doing? I had shot my husband with the silver bullets Aitch had made to kill him; I had betrayed him utterly to Hell.
“No…no,” I whispered. “What have I done?” I had redeemed him once. I could not do it again, and I had just destroyed his redemption with my own hands. Entirely of my own volition?
Appalled at the implications, I stood frozen, the gun hanging from my limp fingers. Deadman looked at the blood running down his arm and pooling on the ground, only now seeming to realize the extent of his wounds.
His face contorted and he howled with pain. I heard a hissing sound, which at first I thought was his breath rasping through his teeth. It was a hiss of vaporizing blood—it literally boiled as it bubbled from his wounds.
Smoke rose from his shoulder and hip, and once again I smelled burning flesh. Though the wounds might not be mortal on their own, some of the bullets had lodged in his body and were searing him from the inside.
He doubled over for a moment, staggered and cried out, but didn’t fall, his left hand still tightly clamped to his right arm.
“Oh, my God!” I screamed. Deadman looked up at me, the anguish in his face not concealing a desperate appeal. With the bullets he had recovered from the demonic rage in which he had almost killed my beloved father—I now saw my husband again, his human half coming to the fore. He loved me; he begged me for my help. Though I had shot him to prevent him from murdering my father, I loved him with all my soul.
At that moment we forgave one another without words, without reservations. Papa struggled to his feet between Deadman and the car but I paid him little attention—he was apparently all right. Perhaps I could do something—I could probe the bullets out, I could relieve Deadman’s pain. I let my gun fall and started towards my husband.
A heavy sound and a whine; the discharge of a large-caliber automatic and a ricochet. The bike shuddered from a blow and Deadman’s body jerked. A drop of blood hit my face and I jumped.
Looking down my body, I saw a pattern of red splatters, but I wasn’t wounded. In my husband’s abdomen, a hand-size crater had opened through shirt and flesh, ragged and dark, and it gushed blood.
He had been shot in the back, the mushroomed bullet blowing a huge hole in his stomach; it had torn through him and caromed off the frame of the bike a few yards behind me.
Deadman’s eyes opened wide and he spun around. Papa’s big stainless steel, walnut-stocked Colt .45 automatic was still raised, his arms out straight and the gleaming gun braced in both hands.
He shot again. The second bullet hit Deadman’s abdomen just above the first, an entrance wound to match the exit wound, and blood sprayed in every direction. He yelled, wrapping his arm around his torso, but still advanced.
I flew to him and tried to shield his body with mine. “Papa, no! He’ll kill you! He can’t be hurt with—”
“These?” shouted my father, kicking something on the ground—the broken cardboard box. It turned over and some of the extra cartridges spilled out.
He had reloaded with the silver .45s.
I screamed, whirling to embrace my husband. “My love!”
Papa’s face was filled with desperate triumph, his cheeks blotchy, his eye blackened and his throat and jaw mottled with darkening bruises.
“Those bullets will kill him when nothing else will, won’t they? He’s a DEMON!” Deadman staggered forward out of my arms, nearly falling, and Papa backpedaled and took a new fix on him. “Fifty years dead, and still walking the earth!”
“How did you—?”
“Ah KNOW what he is! A monster! Did you think Ah wouldn’t figure it out?” His finger pumped the trigger. A third bullet struck my husband in the chest at close range and he stopped dead.
“STOP!” I threw myself in front of him again. “Don’t you know what will happen if you destroy his body?!”
“Ah heard it all from the people around here, and until Ah saw it for myself, Ah wouldn’t believe it! His wounds vanish! He can’t touch a blessed object! He’s the Dead Man! The Hellrider! The messenger of Death and the servant of Satan himself! Ah had to save you from him!” Deadman took another step forward and sank to his knees.
“You don’t understand! I had to save HIM from Satan! I pledged to love him and be faithful to him unto death—I’ve betrayed him, and now you’re dooming him to—Oh, God! NO!”
Everything that I had said and done, my profession of love, my transformation, my marriage, my new life—for nothing? I felt the imminent presence of evil and the overwhelming smell of decay. “DEAR GOD! NO!” My husband collapsed prone in the dust and I flung myself at his side.
“He’s done for, honey,” my father snarled, aiming his Colt. “Get away from him!”
“My love…my love…” I sobbed, covering Deadman’s bleeding body with mine, my hands clasped over his head. “I never meant to betray you!”
“Irene…” he choked out, writhing in agony. “I know…but it ain’t no good now…he’s come back for me.”
I screamed at the air as the miasma formed around us. “You can’t have him! He was redeemed!”
“I love you for it, Irene…I know you tried…” He howled like a dying animal.
“I won’t let him have you! I’ll do anything!”
“There ain’t nothin’ you can do, darlin’…” He rolled a tormented gaze up to me, his eyes all green fire. “I’m goin’ to the pits of Hell, and Satan’s got his revenge.”
“There has to be something I can do! God let me live to save you! There has to be a way!” He only shook his head, his eyes closing. Papa came up to us and grabbed my hair, throwing me away from my husband. I rolled backwards in the dirt and my hand came up against my fallen gun.
“Say goodbye to the miserable bum!” Papa yelled, kneeling and jamming the muzzle of the .45 to Deadman’s temple. “Since he won’t die fast enough, Ah’m gonna shut him up quick!”
“NO! PAPA, NO!” I picked up my revolver, snapped it into a braced grip and aimed. Deadman moaned, a stream of blood running from the corner of his mouth. “Back away from him!”
My father looked reproving. “Honey, you know well as Ah do that you are not going to shoot your own Papa.”
“You don’t know me at all,” I said. “Back away from my husband.”
“No, honey, Ah won’t. This monster deserves to die for what he’s done to you, and if what he says is true and his soul’s on the fast track to hell, that’s justice!”
“Decock the Colt, Papa. Put on the safety and throw it towards me. Now.”
Papa slowly shook his head, getting up from his knees. Deadman rolled face up, hands pressed to his abdomen, his face wrenching with pain. “Honey, there is nothing that is going to stop me from killing him. Put the gun away.”
“I will shoot, Papa.”
My father turned and aimed the .45 again as he stood over my husband, drawing a bead right between his eyes. “No, you won’t.” I saw his finger begin to tighten on the trigger and I fired.
The bullet hit Papa square in the chest and spun him around, a look of pained surprise on his face. Stumbling, he caught my eye for a moment, then fell straight backwards. The spasmodic reflex of his hands fired the Colt on the way down, emptying the magazine into the ground.
His hat rolled away when his head hit and the Colt clanked against a stone. Paralyzed, I watched his hands twitch and jerk and his knees flex briefly, boot heels scraping in the dust. Then he went entirely still.
“You shot yer Pop?” said Deadman dazedly. “Irene?”
The gun fell from my hand, and I let out a whimper. It rapidly rose to a howl, and I screamed in horrible grief, rooted to the spot. “Papa! Papa!”
“Oh…God damn, woman…n-not for me…”
“Papa…” I crawled over to where he lay and fell to my knees. “Oh, Papa…” His eyes were wide open and unseeing, his expression still surprised. I found his crucifix on the ground before me; he had cast it away after the Devil had spoken to him. “Oh, Papa…oh, Papa…I love you…I’m so sorry!”
I knelt in the dust and wound the chain and cross into his limp fingers, nearly blind with tears. My father, my little daughter. The only two people I had loved from the moment I knew of their existence, and I had killed both of them with my own hands. Could God ever have meant me for this? I closed his staring eyes. “Ohh! Papa, why wouldn’t you listen to me?”
“Somebody else…was talkin’ too loud,” said Deadman in a quiet, weary voice. “Though I reckon he would’ve shot me no matter what. Oh, woman…you didn’t need to kill him for my sake. I’m dyin’ anyhow.” He coughed up a great gout of blood and spat it out of his mouth.
“Dying?”
“He’s gut-shot me twice with that .45, and he’s plugged me through the lungs for good measure. Lot bigger bullets than yer little gun. I ain’t gettin’ up from that.” The dying flames showed a huge pool of blood around him, soaking into the earth.
“I’ll get you to a hospital…”
“No good, Irene. I’ve got ten or fifteen minutes left, maybe, and there’s no doctor that would do a dead man any good. It don’t hurt so much now anyway. I can’t feel anything below my heart.” His expression changed; he flushed and seemed to listen to an unheard voice.
“What is it?”
“No,” said Deadman clearly. “I won’t.” He spoke to the air, to the curling miasma. “I know what yer promises are worth, and even if it was true, I wouldn’t do it.”
“Deadman?”
“He’s givin’ me an offer,” he said, staring into space. “He can heal me even now. There’s someone coming he can use for raw material, he says. He’ll restore my body and let me serve him. I’m still his Hellrider, he says, and he wants me back. I’m still the dark angel of Death. And the first one I can take to him is you.”
He smiled, his teeth bloody. “He wants you bad, but you’re my woman. I told him no.”
Headlights and flashing colors lit the trees by the road. Up the drive came two state police cruisers, lights revolving, but no sirens sounding. One pulled up behind the Firebird and the other beside the Range Rover as if to block it from leaving, and I could see the drivers and their partners taking down shotguns from their clamps.
One trooper got out and shone a big flashlight at the smouldering ruins of the house and the outbuildings, then darted it around the yard. When the beam struck us, it stopped and held position.
Another trooper got out, shotgun trained on me, as I was the only person of the three of us not lying flat. I heard a bullhorn click on.
“You there. Ma’am. This is the state police. Are you Mrs. Roy Famillo?”
“I was,” I said, reaching for my revolver on the ground. One bullet left. “That’s not my name any more.”
“Ma’am, you are under arrest. Let’s make this easy on everyone. Lie down and put your arms out to the sides.” Someone helped the priest out of the car and put him into a cruiser.
“No,” I said, and slightly raised the revolver so they could see it. “Not right now. I need a few minutes, please.”
I heard the safety of a service automatic click off. “Ma’am, put down the gun. Throw it over here and put your hands behind your head.”
“I have a gun. Aren’t you going to kill me?”
“We’re not here to kill anyone, ma’am. We want to take you into custody, and we’re going to do it now. Throw the gun towards us.”
It was too risky to simply point the gun at them and hope that their marksmanship was better than that of the average state trooper. I didn’t like the idea of a spray of buckshot—far too much margin for error.
I realized, at long last, that I was going to have to carry out my task myself. No wonder I had always longed for death; I felt only overwhelming peace and joy now that it was so near.
I put the revolver to my head and heard their sharp intakes of breath, nearly simultaneous. “Ma’am, put the gun down.”
“Back off, or I’m going to blow my brains out in front of you,” I said. Deadman moaned. “I’m not going to try to escape, but I want you to go down the drive and wait at the road. It will only be a few minutes. You’ll know when to return.”
“Is that man alive?” said one of the troopers. “Does he need an ambulance?”
“No, he’s not alive,” I said. “Go down to the road and wait, or you get to see me die. If you don’t hear anything in five minutes, you can come back. All right?”
“Can we get someone to talk to you, ma’am? Before you do something like that? A member of the clergy, or a friend of yours?”
“No.” I thumbed the hammer back with a long, ratcheting click. “All I want is for you to go down to the road and wait. Call the suicide crisis team or something. I don’t care.” I saw them whisper to each other for a moment, the shotgun still trained on me.
“Look, what is going to happen will happen. It might be better if you can say you didn’t witness it. I’m trying to do you a favor here.”
They consulted with each other again, then backed the cruisers off a few yards behind the Firebird, keeping us in sight. I heard the crackle of radios as they reported in, realized that was all the space they were going to give me, and turned to Deadman.
He lay with his hands on his breast, staring up at the sky, his pale face streaked with blood.
“My love, tell me something. I’ve betrayed you?”
“It ain’t your fault…maybe you’ve bought it back anyhow, ‘cause you killed him.” The dying fire flickered in his eyes. “Oh, my darlin’. I know you loved him…”
“There is one part of your redemption still missing. I’m going to make it come true, and that will free you forever. I know it.” I looked up at the lightening sky. No stars, but the sun would come soon. “And…perhaps, this is truly what I was meant to do. I was given a new life for a reason. It’s time to give it back.”
“What?”
“Don’t you understand? I’m not only your redeemer; you are mine. I’ve committed far worse crimes than you have. You made a foolish vow one night and wouldn’t pass up a race. I’ve taken life over and over, and I need absolution far more than you do. This is what you were meant to do for me. I’m faithful to you, my love, and if I die now, my faithfulness will have been unto death.”
Deadman began to speak, but I dropped the gun and laid a finger on his lips. “Hush, my darling. Let me give up my life to save your soul, and perhaps that will also atone for my crimes. God made me the instrument of mercy for my child, and you are the instrument of mercy for me.”
I took his hand; he pressed it, his unhuman strength still lingering in his sinews. “This is the only chance I have left of salvation. You can still do it. Kill me.”
“No,” he whispered. “I can’t kill you. I love you.” The firelight paled and dwindled, for the sky was grey with approaching dawn, but I knew I was never going to see my husband’s face in sunlight as long as I lived. “Irene, I love you…stay with me. Please…”
I knelt straddling his hips, picked up his left hand and put it around my throat. He didn’t squeeze; he caressed my face with shaking fingers, his breath starting to come in gasps. I bent down and kissed him, tasting his blood on my lips.
“You’re dying. If you die before I’ve completed my task, the Devil will take you and your soul will burn forever in hell. I won’t let that happen. I don’t care what will happen to me, but I won’t let that happen to you. I love you, Hellrider. I love you, Undertaker. I love you so, Deadman.”
“Luke…” he said, so low I could barely hear him. “Please…call me by my name.”
“I love you, Luke.”
His eyes closed and tears seeped from under the lids.
“I was born of a dead mother. I’ve killed men. I killed my child and I killed my father. All I’ve ever brought forth is death. Death is the only thing I’ve ever loved. I’ve always loved you.”
I moved away from him, picked up the gun again and lay down beside him on the dusty earth, as close as I could get without touching him. Here was our everlasting bed of earth, our deathbed.
“You’ve always loved me?”
“Yes.” He was Death, and I loved Death. A pale rider. I knew why he had found me on the road all alone; I knew why he had taken my body for his own. It belonged to him, because he had always been my faithful companion. My entire life had been a love affair with Death. I only wondered why he had taken so long to meet me on the road. Thirty years.
“I’ll love you forever,” I said. “Here I am, faithful to you unto death.”
“Love…don’t die,” he whispered. “Irene...”
“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and in the hour of our...”
I put the muzzle of the revolver in my mouth and closed my lips around it, tilting it upwards until it bumped the back of my throat. I tasted its metal and the tang of gunpowder. I looked at the man I loved lying in his own blood on the ground, his green eyes fixed on me, his burning tears running down his face, his acid fire nearly washed clean. He had never looked so human.
And as the sun touched the tops of the trees, just revealing itself to the world, I pulled the trigger.

END
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Deathbed