The peoplistic tendencies of an overpopulated terrorist plight are the specific reasons for humankind's declining status. However, a spot of hope remains in the heart of a spry young wrangler whose pain has made him so cold his touch is like Death's itself. He is not the person sitting beside, in front of, nor behind you, but the one who in the mirror looks back at you. His is the stony stare of a young boy made man too fast, and his walk is the gait of a man who has killed before, and will kill again if provoked. His is the breath of air on the back of your neck when no one is there, to remind you he's around; and his presence, or lack thereof, is a constant reminder of who you will never be.
Hello, all. Go ahead and read this and then either post a continuation of the story or a reply. Thank you!
- Daniel Martinez,
Novelist
Hello, all. Go ahead and read this and then either post a continuation of the story or a reply. Thank you!
- Daniel Martinez,
Novelist
