The story is based on real people I knew in Seagoville Federal Correctional prison. The character of Hertzler wasn't a killer, of course.
But his clown pictures were the worst things I'd ever seen.
The warden and the Lt. are pretty real. The story is purely fiction.
TerryWalstrom
JoinedPosts by TerryWalstrom
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1
Expoding Clown
by TerryWalstrom inexploding clown inmate hertzler scurried toward his cell lugging another packet of art supplies sent by his faithful old mom back in oklahoma.
once inside, his filthy fingers ripped off the brown paper around the cigar box.
a glut of tubes of winsor oil paint gorged the roi-tan cigar box.
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TerryWalstrom
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11
Crows and Those on Patios
by TerryWalstrom incrows and those on patios______________.
terry: i write.
among the things i write are analyses debunking religious fundamentalism.. lou: sure.
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TerryWalstrom
This guy Lou gave me his business card and I've been watching his videos.
There is something so naive and smug about people in his capacity who are ignorant of so many facts and yet so certain the KNOW. -
11
Crows and Those on Patios
by TerryWalstrom incrows and those on patios______________.
terry: i write.
among the things i write are analyses debunking religious fundamentalism.. lou: sure.
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TerryWalstrom
Crows and Those on Patios
______________Location Exterior : The patio of Starbucks
Time: 11 am
Cast:
Lou : Media / News analyst, religious fundamentalist
Terry: Gadfly, writer /Crow apologist, big mouth know-it-all
Edgar: Spawn of Satan
________________Our scene begins with two men at separate tables working at their laptops.
Lou is a man of about 60. He recently moved from New York to Texas to start his own Videography business.
He is shooing flies away from his laptop screen with a disgusted expression.
A few feet away, Terry begins waving his arms and scowling.____
Terry: Thanks. They all came over to me now!
Lou: Oh, Sorry. Starbucks needs to provide flyswatters for people who sit out here.
Terry: You’re obviously not a Republican Conservative!
Lou: Um what? Actually--I am. Why do you say that?
Terry: I’m being facetious. Conservatives preach personal responsibility rather than getting others to provide for them.
Lou: Ahhh, I see. I see. That’s funny. Are you a Republican?
Terry: You don’t want to know. Trust me.
Lou: What--why not?
Terry: It’s like asking Jack Nicholson to tell the truth on the witness stand.
Lou: I’m sorry--I don’t understand.
Terry: What did Nicholson answer when Tom Cruise asked him to tell the truth?
Lou: (Blank expression)
Terry: (Quoting Colonel Jessup in A Few Good Men) “You want the truth? You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth!
Lou: (Face brightening. He ‘gets it’) Okaaay. Okaaay. Why though? I’m serious. Are you Liberal, then?
Terry: There are two things civilized people don’t discuss. One is Politics and the other is --”
Lou: (Jumping in) Religion! Haha, okay sorry. I understand. It’s just that I produce many religious videos and I’m a Website owner who provides commentary on news events with a biblical and Christian viewpoint.
Terry: I’m sorry to hear that. That means it’s impossible for us to have a civilized conversation.
Lou: You’re a pretty funny guy. What do you do?
Terry: I write. Among the things I write are analyses debunking religious fundamentalism.
Lou: Sure. Sure. No really. Do you write books or what?
Terry: Books, blog essays, CD liner notes, Short stories, poems, bathroom graffiti.
Lou: I don’t know when to take you seriously.
Terry: Welcome to my ex-wives’ world!
_________________From offstage a crow flaps down onto the patio and begins foraging near the two characters. Terry opens his backpack and removes a bag of corn chips. He proceeds to toss them at the Edgar the crow with deadly accuracy.
Lou: You two know each other?
Terry: Let’s just say there is an interpersonal dynamic at play here. If I don’t feed him, there are consequences.
Lou: Sounds like the Mafia!
Terry: (Looking furtively left and right, raising his index finger to his lips) Sh-h-h-h. OMERTA!
Lou: Haha. What kind of consequences?
Terry: (Relates two blood-curdling tales of Crow payback.)
Lou: Are you being serious?
Terry: Keyser Soze with feathers--that’s what we’re dealing with here.
Lou: (Clueless) I’m sorry?
Terry: (Quoting Verbal Kint in the Usual Suspects) The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.
Lou: I have performed actual exorcisms on people!
Terry: Of course.
Lou: You can hear another person’s voice coming out of the possessed. And when you finally liberate them, their voice changes and a great relief comes over their body.
Terry: (Knows it’s time to go off the cliff) Is the voice coming from the person’s vocal chords or someplace else in the room?
Lou: It’s the person’s vocal chords--but a foreign voice. Very frightening unless the power of Jesus Christ is there to protect you.
Terry: (Sighing) I have a question about Demons.
Lou: Sure, go ahead.
Terry: How big are they? I mean--I’m guessing they must be fairly tiny for a bunch of them to fit inside a human. I’m thinking of the one in the book of Luke called LEGION.
Lou: Beg your pardon?
Terry: A Roman Legion was from three thousand to five thousand plus soldiers. That’s a lot of Demons to cram into a person!
Lou: Uh--well. . . Nobody ever asked that before. You do realize they are Spirits, right?
Terry: If I say the word “Chair” you know what I mean--but--you can’t point to “chair” you can only point to a particular instance of a chair. Right?
Lou: Well. Um. There are spirits. God is a Spirit. They are real but. . .
Terry: If something is real it exist with magnitude, number, dimension, size--or else--why give it a name identity and number? I’m just asking what the point in possessing a person is--getting inside them? Why cram inside like clowns in a Volkswagon?Lou: (Lost) Uh. Well.
Terry: The difference between Science and Religion is the difference of thousands of years of Stages in human knowledge development. Right?
1. Ignorance and Superstitions
2. Religious myths
3. Philosophy
4. Scientific method
5. Technology and modernityDemons are a part of mankind’s first efforts to understand phenomena without Science or the scientific method of testing and measuring. We now know a thing cannot actually exist if it is not measurable, quantifiable, and testable.
Lou: You must believe in Evolution then, rather than the Bible.
Terry: Belief is what you have when there are no facts or evidence available.
Lou: Well, no--I wouldn’t say that. Where’d you get that idea?
Terry: I used to read the Dictionary a lot. People have opinions they think are correct and if there are no facts or evidence--they are said to BELIEVE those opinions.
Lou: I’m not talking about human opinions. I’m talking about God’s--in the Bible.
Terry: Okay. I just have difficulty in the use of language when it is used chaotically.
Lou: Who’s doing that?
Terry: The Bible. Religious people. Words are important to me because I’m a writer.
Lou: The Bible isn’t chaotic at all. The Holy Spirit helps us to understand. Without Holy Spirit, it does seem chaotic.
Terry: There are about forty thousand Christian denominations praying for the Holy Spirit to teach them a non-chaotic truth. Which of those forty-thousand actually has that non-chaotic truth. I mean--I’m asking because they do not agree with each other about the specifics.
Lou: God is in charge. He is teaching them through his Spirit.
Terry: You know much more about this than I do. To my untutored mind, all those denominations disagreeing as they do gives the appearance of contradiction. But, how big did you say a Demon is?
Lou: (Trying to figure out where he’s going) I--uh--well. Oh, I was saying: demons are Spirits and um---(lost in thought). . .
Terry: Demons are Spirits and you’ve chosen to believe they are actual persons without any size who can fit inside a human--but it is necessary to extract them from doing so by a ritual of exorcism.
Lou: Yes. I have performed exorcisms.
Terry: Single occupancy or multiple occupancies?
Lou: (Wheels turning) I. Guess. You. Well.
Terry: Nevermind. It’s a belief and non-testable in any scientific sense.
Lou: Well--you can measure the effects. You can prove Spirits by their effects.
Terry: That’s like me saying to a Comedian--I’m not laughing, so you aren’t a Comedian.
Lou: (Suddenly chuckling) That is funny. You are a funny guy.
Terry: You see my point, then?
Lou: Well, let me think about it.
Terry: Is a Comedian funny if nobody laughs? It is a Philosophical question--not an existential one. The so-called ‘Effects” of Spirits is post-Hoc and not propter-Hoc.
Lou: You’ve lost me. Post what?
Terry: When I studied Debate in High School we were given a list of Logical Fallacies to learn. I remember the one called Post hoc ergo propter hoc .
It doesn’t mean the AFTER was because of the thing BEFORE. I was describing your argument in terms of that Logical Fallacy.Lou: Whew! You are hard work to talk to!
Terry: Colonel Jessup would agree with you.
Lou: Um, haha, okay--okay.
Terry: Let me tell you a little story about a cowpoke who was known throughout the Badlands as the most accurate shooter in all the land. Okay?
Lou: I’m all ears.
Terry: This fellow was called DeadEye Dick. He spent all day practicing shooting. At the end of the day, folks would come out of hiding. They saw targets--very tiny chalk circles barely larger than the bullet hole--hundreds of them and NO MISSES!
That’s how DeadEye Dick got his legendary status.Lou: That’s pretty good shooting. But, so what?
Terry: I’m getting to that. One day the town Blacksmith sneaks over to watch DeadEye shooting at the barn. Suddenly he smacks himself on the side of the head and exclaims “Awww Noooooo.” In town, that evening, he tells all the men in the Saloon what he saw.
“We’ve been wrong all this time!”
“Why is that, Smithy?”
“He shoots a hole in the barn FIRST and draws the circle AFTERward.”Lou: (Thinking. Thinking.) Oh. OH, hahaha, that’s good. That’s good.
Terry: If you assume a causal relationship when there isn’t one--your error is the result of being too literal about Cause and Effect and making connections which aren’t there.
Edgar Crow appears again. This time, closer to Lou.
Lou: I guess I better not feed him or I’ll incur a debt and end up like you.
Terry: If only. If only.
Lou: So, do you believe those Crow stories or not?
Terry: I believe what I’ve seen. The other stuff is opinion, scuttlebutt, and hearsay.
Lou: Do you believe in Evolution?
Terry: We are going in a circle, you realize?
Lou: I guess I missed your answer.
Terry: I accept the evidence of Science to the exclusion of the opinions of Genesis.
Lou: The Bible is an infallible source of truth.
Terry: Did God create Eve by taking Adam’s rib from his side or is that a legend?
Lou: Fact.
Terry: Then it was really Adam’s actual rib?
Lou: That’s what the Bible says. Yes. It is a fact.
Terry: That would mean Eve was created by cloning and was, in fact, a duplicate Clone of Adam--and therefore, a man!
Lou: Wuh-wuh-wait a minute--no it doesn’t?
Terry: That’s okay. If the story is just a made up story you can’t expect ancient writers and storytellers to know about DNA. But--if it is the infallible word of God--you’ve got a problem!
Lou: Eve was a Woman--not a man. That’s proof she wasn’t a Clone.
Terry: Which came first, the rib or the woman?
Lou: The rib--but what--?
Terry: Adam was a male. His rib contained his chromosomes and DNA. If they didn’t, Adam was a woman too.
Lou: I--I, that’s. . .God could miraculously change Adam’s DNA into female DNA.
Terry: The Bible is literally correct?
Lou: Infallibly correct. Yes.
Terry: How many animals does the Bible say Noah placed on the Ark?
Lou: Two of each kind.
Terry: It also says Seven pairs of each clean animal and one pair of each unclean animal. Which statement is factually true?
Lou: Oh. Well. That’s--it’s a matter of perspective.
Terry: If you’re renting out a one bedroom apartment and 14 people show up instead of two--is it a matter of perspective or room capacity?
Lou: Hahaha. You’re pretty funny. I enjoy talking to you. I have to go now--I’ve got an appointment. Here’s my business card. I’m sure I’ll see you around.
Terry: My pleasure. Oh--don’t forget your crow!
_______
End Scene
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14
... The Teacher Appears
by TerryWalstrom intext: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1s2nu2bw_em6i9kp7wugj4yjqmhps2yio-ytehl4jbmy/edit?usp=sharingthe teacher appears.
he was paul miyoshi.. i passed by him; he raised his head with flashing white hair and set his gaze serenely upon me that first time.
the pupils of his eyes were black, mysterious, as from another world.“konichiwa” he spoke with a smile wrapped in mischief.. there had been a slight bow which triggered a mirrored response.. over the next year and a half, i’d get to know this man much in the way a box within a box reveals more boxes.
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TerryWalstrom
Yes. The most difficult thing for many former JW's is wrapping their mind around the idea there are "many paths" equally valid.
We were so accustomed to binary decisions--it's a tough habit to kick.Western philosophy is logic oriented, for the most part, while Eastern philosophy embraces contradiction.
For that reason, my mind tends to sneeze whenever I hear or read Zen Taoist 'wisdom'.
Spirituality, for me (your mileage may vary) has seemed a counterfeit word because it has whatever meaning you wish to give it.
I know there IS such a thing. I also know it is emotional rather than cognitive.
Paul always meant well and what he told me (if I am even remembering it correctly) puzzled me and tweaked my powers of analysis. I just carried it around in my subconscious like a rabbit's foot. -
12
It was a Portrait of a Man ... Falling
by TerryWalstrom in(a short story by terry edwin walstrom).
“get out of here—this is my father’s funeral; you don’t belong here; you are a liar!”.
the woman’s face reflected terrible pain—the worst pain possible, to the point of breakdown.
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TerryWalstrom
The component of Catholic condemnation of self-murder hangs heavy over that day. Indeed, if you ever read an obituary about a person who has died of cancer, there is always a mention of 'bravery' in 'battling' the disease. I know from experience, in watching my mother die, she was tortured by her treatment and wanted only to be allowed to overdose on painkillers.
Ironically, when her death was certain--she was sent home with a deliberately large supply of opiates. My stepfather was told (without being told directly) just how many tablets would induce a comatose state.
The defensive posture of civilized people vis a vis death is quite complicated! None of us wishes to die a 'cowardly' death--whatever that is. It comes as no surprise when news outlets bracket the jumpers in heroic and noble terms.
When writing the ending, I found myself indulging in the same kind of sentiments even though part of me resisted. Who was I to judge them? Would I remain inside and swallow jet fuel, fire, and smoke?
I think a human being in dire straits deals with the situation one microsecond at a time--away--away--as far away from imminent extinction as one can get--until all decisions vanish.
I hardly ever think about death, but the documentary and the story of the jumpers and their families hit me like a punch to the solar plexus. I found myself obsessing over it.When my time comes--I'll find out for certain what sort of exit I make.
If others write about it, well--it's up to them to make the call. -
12
It was a Portrait of a Man ... Falling
by TerryWalstrom in(a short story by terry edwin walstrom).
“get out of here—this is my father’s funeral; you don’t belong here; you are a liar!”.
the woman’s face reflected terrible pain—the worst pain possible, to the point of breakdown.
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TerryWalstrom
Thanks for those quotes.
If that amounts to a reputation I've not been able to cash in on it.
I've written two books.
The first book, I Wept by the Rivers of Babylon sold about 45 copies.
The rest were giveaways.
The Monorails of Mars maybe sold about 5 copies.
My reputation has kept me broke :)
I wrote Portrait of a Man Falling last year after watching the documentary. I was emotionally wrung out and felt compelled to write it.
I was satisfied I had gotten it out on paper. I felt I had told it my own way and was proud of how it turned out. I shared it on this forum. The documentary was discussed and I was glad to have it 'out there.'
I posted it again today because--well--it's nine eleven, isn't it?If you want to make it out that I was stealing something and making it my own--I have to ask WHY? What is my motive? It is immediately obvious from the photograph and the quotes it is not a fictional story from the creative imagination.
All it was for me was a means of sharing the emotions I felt. Period.I've not injured the documentary nor the photographer. Judging from the reaction here--I've probably not helped myself.
So, that's all there is to it.
If I committed a crime or a sin--I didn't profit from it, nor did I wish to.If you want to think I'm trying to "get away with something" that's up to you.
I've been writing and posting here for over a decade and there are probably 1700 articles I've written.
I write what I feel. That's all there is to it. -
12
It was a Portrait of a Man ... Falling
by TerryWalstrom in(a short story by terry edwin walstrom).
“get out of here—this is my father’s funeral; you don’t belong here; you are a liar!”.
the woman’s face reflected terrible pain—the worst pain possible, to the point of breakdown.
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TerryWalstrom
When an "injured party" shows up to complain, I'll discuss it with them.
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12
It was a Portrait of a Man ... Falling
by TerryWalstrom in(a short story by terry edwin walstrom).
“get out of here—this is my father’s funeral; you don’t belong here; you are a liar!”.
the woman’s face reflected terrible pain—the worst pain possible, to the point of breakdown.
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TerryWalstrom
If I were charging money for it, you might have a point.
I have no reputation as a writer--so it can't be ruined very much :) -
12
It was a Portrait of a Man ... Falling
by TerryWalstrom in(a short story by terry edwin walstrom).
“get out of here—this is my father’s funeral; you don’t belong here; you are a liar!”.
the woman’s face reflected terrible pain—the worst pain possible, to the point of breakdown.
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1
Expoding Clown
by TerryWalstrom inexploding clown inmate hertzler scurried toward his cell lugging another packet of art supplies sent by his faithful old mom back in oklahoma.
once inside, his filthy fingers ripped off the brown paper around the cigar box.
a glut of tubes of winsor oil paint gorged the roi-tan cigar box.
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TerryWalstrom
EXPLODING CLOWNInmate Hertzler scurried toward his cell lugging another packet of art supplies sent by his faithful old Mom back in Oklahoma.
Once inside, his filthy fingers ripped off the brown paper around the cigar box. A glut of tubes of Winsor Oil Paint gorged the Roi-Tan cigar box. Under them, a detail brush with sable hair had been Scotch-taped to the bottom. Hertzler grinned and his rotting front teeth appeared briefly like a Jack O’lantern. He sniffed in the strong scent of cheap cigars. How he missed them! His appreciative low chuckle was enough to frighten even the cockroaches.
All packages and envelopes searched before release from the mailroom required listing and dating. Next to Hertzler’s name- extra three sheets had been loosely attached.
Lieutenant Bennett shook his head with boiling disapproval and grunted out loud to himself.This inmate pushed Warden Ayala’s liberal policy to the breaking point.
“This freak can’t even paint!”
Indeed, Hertzler’s cell was crowded with stacks of finished clown portraits--awful child-like splotches of misshapen approximations. Garish abortive eyesores half-finished and drying leaned against the concrete wall next to the toilet/sink. On a wobbly easel in the middle, a red headed clown awaited the final touches from the detail brush.
Lt. Bennett half-marched down the hallway to the Warden’s office muttering under his breath. Bennett had been a Drill Instructor in the marine corp and had no space allotted for nonsense inside his 200 lb. six-foot frame.He swiveled left and entered Ayala’s office without knocking.
“We gotta put a stop to inmate Hertzler’s clown painting rampages. He got another box from his mother today and that makes 113 this year. Just give the word and it’s done.”
Warden Ayala slowly looked up from his desk where he had been trying to memorize his grand children’s birthdays. The dates were printed in his wife’s neat pencil figures on a sheet of paper and thrust into his hand with a glare. He’d missed the third grand child’s birthday and it was--to his wife--an unforgivable lapse of character.
“What did you say? Hertzler? He’s not hurting anybody. What do you care? Besides, I asked him to paint a red headed clown with freckles for my granddaughter’s birthday for me. She loves clowns.”
Bennett stiffened. Ayala had the last word on prison policy. Ayala was a man accustomed to getting his way; a man who took no counsel from others.He gave orders and heels clicked.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Sir. Hertzler’s cell smells like paint thinner and he’s probably using that stuff to get high--not just clean his paint brushes.Other inmates are trading him smokes so’s they can hang his shit on their walls. Now the entire 2nd floor of building 4 looks like a clown gallery from hell.”
Ayala shrugged and went back to memorizing. His message was clear--’Get the hell out of my office and leave me alone.’
Bennett’s jaw clenched. He about-faced and marched out. His face and neck glowed like molten steel in a blacksmith’s forge.
____
Three days later.
Inmate Hertzler scurried toward his cell lugging another packet of art supplies sent by his faithful old Mom back in Oklahoma. Once inside, his filthy fingers ripped off the brown paper around the cigar box inside.
The disgusting little man’s eyes narrowed and the look of surprise momentarily resembled the facial expression of one of his horrid clown portraits.
“What’s this, Mom?” He mumbled.
The tips of his filthy fingers scraped at the bottom of the cigar box as he fumbled aside a random assortment of used paint brushes. A cigar stuck to the bottom and a book of matches, too.
The toothy Halloween grin widened.
“Awww, Mommy--I love you, too.”Lt. Bennett followed behind Hertzler after mail packet pickup, discreetly and purposefully. As the insufferable convict scratched a match against the matchbook cover and the fat Roi-Tan cigar dangled between his lips, Bennett smiled a cold-blooded expression of amusement only a mortician might admire.
Drawing in a lungful of sweet, pungent smoke, inmate Roy Hertzler exhaled slowly and closed his eyes in dreamlike reveries of remembrance.
His last puff of a Roi-Tan had been as he stood over his handiwork looking down. The newspapers would call it the fifth of a series of Clownface murders. Hertzler had been glimpsed by witnesses to his first tour de force and reported to police what they’d seen.
Yes, he wore clown makeup--so what?
These desecrated corpses had--minutes before--beheld the last vision any of them would ever see: an angry clown. . . a rejected entertainer. A man denied his livelihood by Ringling Bros. and their minions. Why? Why? Just because he had lost his temper that one time?
Everybody is entitled to one mistake! But no--child stomping was against company policy.
Nobody saw it go down. Nobody could be sure it wasn’t just as he’d described it.
“Oh yeah--it was awful the way that elephant stepped on the little kid. The child wuz uh fuckin’ with Ringo the elephant and I warned him not to. You know how kids are.”
Some people just have it coming. The little boy was one of them, or so Hertzler thought.
The little brat had mocked him instead of laughing. The little bastard tossed elephant shit in his face. That--THAT was something unforgivable! Hershel Hertzler was a great artist deserving of dignity, respect, and an appreciative audience instead of mockery and elephant shit! The boy should have listened. He brought it on himself.
Inmate Hertzler drew in another savored moment of hot cigar smoke and sighed the billowy cloud back out again.
It was that last victim where it all went wrong.
The policeman with the red crew cut had figured it all out. He was one step ahead of Hertzler.
The cop explained to the newspaper reporter after the arrest.
“The killer’s family were circus folks going way back two generations before their son came along and fucked things up for them.He is definitely some kind of Sociopath or Psychopath--whatever the latest word being used. Each of his victims was relatives of circus management--people who had refused to give him back his job. It was Tiny, the circus midget, who ratted him out quietly to management. He overheard Hertzler raving to himself.They didn’t press charges because of bad publicity. An elephant accident is one thing--but deliberate murder and by a clown? It would destroy their business forever. So, they fired him and told him not to come back. He didn’t listen. The guy is nuts. So, he started in--one by one--gruesome revenge murders: clown paint and elephant shit--a real bad way to go.”
Lt. Bennett was laughing quietly, gleefully--a deeply satisfying, heartfelt laugh welling up from the soles of his black shoes to the bald spot on the back of his sunburned scalp.He spoke just loud enough for his own ears.
“Any second now.”
Just then, the sound of a .357 magnum bullet exploded inside the cell of Hershel Hertzler. The percussion wave rocketed from the concrete walls and reverberated into a shockwave of surprise clear to the other end of Building 4.
Lt. Bennett’s heart swelled in pride of a job well done. He self-appreciated his scathing scheme: the oldest clown prank in the world: a cigar load!Instead of a small squib of black powder, Bennet had substituted the magnum bullet with the lead inserted within the Roi-Tan, pointed right at the back of the smoker’s head.
The splatter of Hertzler’s blood blossomed into a spray of tiny droplets. The almost-finished portrait of a redheaded clown received the final freckle touch ups, completing Warden Ayala’s commissioned birthday gift.
The following day, his granddaughter squealed with delight!
_________