The Savage Shot The Darkness

The antique Savage sat on the desk. Even in it’s own day, the pistol was considered unpredictable but now somewhere near a century since it’s creation it was unthinkable that Frank would have loaded it; unthinkable, to everyone but Frank who wasn’t thinking quite right. The hookah on Frank’s other side was supposed to be have tobacco in it. It didn’t.

What it did have was a strange black smoke that granted Frank new spectrums of visible light. These new sights were men, men of foggy, hazy, black persuasion. From the hazy silhouette all one can see of these men are ten sharp light catching metallic edges, one for every finger. As one came closer, it seemed to laugh. Frank being not of sound mind shot the monster and in it’s a last moments it seemed familiar.

Two others came and he disposed of them just the same. Their shadows moved across the floor and stained the carpet red. More shades would come for him. In the right drawer nest to the pens sat a box of .380s one hundred full. The sweat kept on; Justin knew the trip was far from over.

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