pyratwilly

going into another working weekend, but with any luck I'll get a nice dinner on Saturday night to brighten the weekend.

I'm glad to see my profile is now policing itself, this saves the national government of pyratwilly millions of dollars in not having to hire or maintain an active duty force of police and / or military.

It's been thunderstorming and raining here on and off for the past week or so, which lends to cool thoughts. Maybe soon I'll figure a good way to get them on paper.

Arms strong with tendon and sinew worked raw over the years, lending them power not seen since the manual laborers of old, skin fading with scar tissue ridged like a miniscule pink mountain range on the skin, intersected only by fading tattoos, now illegible. Hands scarred, torn, twisted and gnarled with years of work, fingers bony and obviously broken several times stemming from knuckles that look like they have pounded a brick wall incessantly for years. These weather-worn overworked hands close around the throat of milky-white skin and squeeze, until the muffled wet crack of the trachea collapsing on itself is heard, and a small trickle of wine-red blood dribbles from the corner of the child's innocent lower lip. The hands release the now limp form, which crumples in a corner like a broken rag doll and as the tiny 11 year old skull hits against the wall with a small clunk, and the thunder cracks loud overhead, and the lightning illuminates the room if only for a tenth of a second... a feral canine smile shines.