The Old God


  He was tired. War had aged him prematurely, a solider long past his expiration date. Every kick from his rifle, every casing to ping off his goggles, each and every near miss and bullet past the bread basket, it all took its toll. The cold shadow that haunted him and his comrades was not unbeknown to them. Death was close, waiting, impatient. Some believed it was only a matter of time before he came to collect his due, to spread his arms wide and sweep the pot towards him, his winnings all the sweeter for the wait. Not long now.


~ by Joseph Blame on April 30, 2011.

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