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‘Remember me asshole.’ ———– David Fitzsimmons looked like he was about to have a heart attack and he grimaced. ‘Hello…Rob.’ ‘I did...’t think they let out murdering scum.’ By now I had a handful of his rags and had pushed him up against the alley wall. He smelled putrid like spoiled food mixed with vomit and cheap wine. He had track marks up his arms. ‘Please Rob… leave me be. I did my time.’ ‘Leave you be?…You murdered my father. I should kill you where you stand junkie.’ The pathetic excuse of. When the snow melted, the hunters, Thorn among them, had gone out with the cries of hungry babies echoing in their ears.Thorn had trailed the deer herd for three days, grabbing seeds and berries to eat as he went. The herd led him into a valley entirely strange to him. He needed to make his kill soon, for he was burning with fever. In the morning, he took a distant shot, and the arrow hit the doe in her belly, but not deep enough. The herd scattered, and he pursued the doe. It was afternoon. More

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