Scott plods doggedly along through the endless gloom, alone. As always. He’s always been alone, as far back as he can remember. Even during the glorious days of his youth when he had been a star basketball player in a State-renowned High School team. Even growing up with all those brothers and sisters. It was just his disposition in life. Sure, he tried to fill the great yawning chasm in his soul with meaningless sex and lately, by tormenting Josh, but it was all to no avail. Well, tormenting Josh was a great deal of fun. And the sex was fantastic. Still... “Loneliness can't be all bad,” he tries to reassure himself for the millionth* time. He looks down at the four bullet wounds in his chest, still bleeding profusely, and cringes. He supposes he should feel guilty for what he had done to Raymond and so many others. But he doesn’t feel a thing. He didn't mean any harm, most of the time. Is he a sociopath? Probably. Even as these thoughts race through his anguished mind the wounds in his chest and left arm seem to heal.Scott seems strangely unaffected by his miraculous recovery, however. It isn’t the first time he has stared down death and won. Will he ever die? Sure his physical wounds might heal, but his soul died long ago. Time wounds all heals, as the old Vulcan saying goes. Or was it Klingon? Ah Hell, none of that mattered now. “Scott, wait!” he hears someone shouting from behind him. He cranes his neck around and sees...(*)Actually it's only the 978,705th time, but he isn't keeping a close count. *
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11/19/2007 7:48:46 AM
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