"A scream from one house, a scream so mournful, so much like a pig about to get slaughtered. An old man runs as fast as he can from the yard. He is half-blind, but rocks and the uneven road mean nothing to him now. He runs past me. His son catches up with him...the son hits the bald wrinkled head with an axe, the blunt side lightly on the side..." Hell. No. I'm done with this one.
— Sep 15, 2013 07:18PM
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