Stricken with grief, inhaling the sour of the tears. He raises his chalice to death.
"Oh Mr. King, what shall we do?"
Their cries echo, echo, echo, in that rapid mind of his. Those blurry faces, mourning and screeching.
"Oh Mr. King, what will you do?"
The jewlery, glimmering red blood, and ocean deep waters, he raises his chalice to death.
"Oh Mr. King, are you dead?"
That chalice of gold and white, clatters, clanking, shattering on the stone-molded ground. That malevolent grasp of reality, closing in.
"Oh Mr. King, we raise your chalice in death."
Slowly, slowly, slowly, those creeping of voices, left him. Allowing the claws of the shadowed wolverines to snatch him with their snarling grins, shredding him from tissue, to muscle, to his organs.
Dead. |
Submission Name: Mr. King: Raise the Chalice in Death.
