I knew when I seen the shine of it, How disgusting yet disturbing the site of it. It had sat in the old oak drawer for years, yet the cobwebs and dust had settled to allow the shimmering chrome to appear. Not every part was chrome some peaces the color of corrosion and rustic brown like a old rotted bone. Year after year slowly rusting away with time by blood and tears. I committed my first act of murder with that device, I committed my first homicide. Inside my own innocents had died, Treason to my own soul was however my first crime. I pushed the squeaky drawer to and laid my head gently in my bed, I felt the sands of time wash over me from the darkness of the war of June 25,
© ChrismBosarge