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The ChoiceA lone gravel road. It carries on endless past fields that have shriveled and died from drought. An ancient old house. The white plaster is dirty and broken. Roof tiles lay on the ground. The chimney has fallen, the once red brick now blackened. I am drawn inside. The room is small. There is only a single bed, a picture of a women lies on the table. The bed is old and rusted.The Choice
Stains on the old tumbled bed clothes.
I look at the five
Images of myself, only one lies in reality and is tangible. The rest of us hover close. Only one lives, breathes, exists The gun lies in his, our, my hand
We all feel its he
by ~LiquidBlackAngel
Am I Next?by ~MD81
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