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Old Yeller

September 12th, 2018 Leave a comment Go to comments

You don’t have to whisper. Don’t underestimate my ability to appreciate foreshadowing or morality plays. Good boys can be paranoid with dread too, you know. So I knew where this was headed, even before the wolf encounter that led me to a quarantine inside this corn crib, panting and bleeding. I don’t need to be literate to understand the writing on the wall here. It’s being laid on pretty damned thick.

I haven’t been perfect, there’s no doubt. I’d like to be remembered as a hero, but the truth is I’m a mixed bag at best. There will be detractors, and they’ll be right. Hell, I only got introduced to the Coates family that I’ve been so loyal to by stealing their meat. But I feel like I’ve done right by them, even when this all ends poorly, which it will. Like I said, morality plays aren’t exactly subtle.

There was a trace of foam in my drool this morning, and my skull feels increasingly pressurized by the hour. It’s a matter of time. The only question is how ugly it gets as the rabies ravage me, and what happens in the interim until act five, which I can only assume ends in assassination. That’s life, as far as I can see, and so be it. I’ve got a son and have lived courageously, even if I die insane or as a trite symbol for the transition to manhood.

Categories: satan
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