home authors guest shorts graphical shorts
Instinctively, Jennings itched the fresh belly wound. His punctured gall bladder squirted acrid juices into his rent flesh. He gazed at the sky, the lofty sky... the moon hung tenderly in its deep blue stasis. Above his head, the distended pistil of some rare jungle orchid dripped dew upon his forehead. Jennings made his peace with the world, sparing a kind thought even for the slanty-eyed gook who had sniped him, as well as that fucking nigger Henderson, who was supposed to have been on point that day.
Date Written: December 30, 1899
Average Vote: 4.75