Chapter XXVII.
In which our hero returns home. Many beverages imbibed. A quarrel at a tavern. The moonstruck sirens call, far away. A yearning not entirely understood. A collection of his families history found wanting. The frayed edges of a thousand old photographs. Faith in mathematics and logic. The death of the idea of death as part of whatever inner coma. A reservoir. The warm summer wind against his face as he plummets forty feet into the uteral glow of the farmed water. Peace in the valley. And the judge reconciles.
Proof Not Beheld.
In which our hero returns home. Many beverages imbibed. A quarrel at a tavern. The moonstruck sirens call, far away. A yearning not entirely understood. A collection of his families history found wanting. The frayed edges of a thousand old photographs. Faith in mathematics and logic. The death of the idea of death as part of whatever inner coma. A reservoir. The warm summer wind against his face as he plummets forty feet into the uteral glow of the farmed water. Peace in the valley. And the judge reconciles.
Proof Not Beheld.
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And thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it.
Great new profile pic by the way.
~Rye