The Pale Altar
You pull the trigger. The noise is a physical thing. It hammers your eardrums. It vibrates in your teeth. You are standing in the square. It is gray. It is cold. The air tastes of iron and old smoke. You hold the rifle. Your hands do not shake. You are a soldier. You are the law. You are the shield. The crowd is silent. They look at you. They do not cheer. They do not run. They just look. Their...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima