Walt Livingston
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El Tonelero Diabolico Blanco
“Abuelo, quédate conmigo, por favor”, the little girl murmured softly. “Grandpa, please stay with me.” The old man looked into her eyes, and wished more than anything that he could give her what she wanted. He wasn’t tired of living, but he’d lived at least two lives. He just couldn’t bear to break her heart. He’d caused enough heartbreak already. “Es la hora, mija.”. His breathing slowed, and on the backs of his eyelids a staccato slideshow of those lifetimes flickered. His face gave only the barest indication of the scenes he was reliving. His expression flowed from pride through amusement, then darkened as regret drew his features taut. The little girl would have been pleased that reflecting on his all-too-brief time with her had restored the sun in his soul, both in the moment and in his life.
By Walt Livingston3 years ago in Criminal