Home > write365. > Day 5 (2).

Day 5 (2).

Gunshells scattered at the bottom of this wooden receptacle—the black powder blown across the head of them, expelled, powerless now. Scraps of meat he would perhaps feed his dog had he a dog or had he one still living—no, he never did care for the trim of the cut. Sheets of paper with illiterate scribbles crumpled and screwed-up, a thin membrane of blood and liquid fat from the meat settled in the folds. The blood carrying a noisome balm of death, saturating into the grain of the wood.

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