A thousand little stories clawed free of

A thousand little stories clawed free of his fingers; each of them an infectious, creeping epidemic of dark ideas. Each waiting to take root in minds unsuspecting and give rise to
countless flocks of pigeons, waiting in the rafters of the old church. He used to care about her, once upon a time, but that was before he discovered the tattoo inside
his bottom lip .. it looked like some kind of bar code so he decided to try and scan it at the self check out kiosk in his local grocery store. when he scanned his face
a picture came up on the screen...a beautiful face...and it spoke to him. 'Go now, get in the car and just drive until your brain says stop'. He grabbed his bag
put a gun, rope, and duct tape inside then zipped it shut. He kept her face in his mind as he strode outside to his car, then realized he didn't have any gloves. Turning, he notice
d curtains rustle in the widow Johnson's townhouse. 'Perfect' he muttered sarcastically to himself. Time was running out. He'd have to kill the girl and then come back
for the rest of the accountants later. "Was that the Reverend?", he wondered aloud as he gently placed the sack of potatoes and gold into the
opening behind the small wooden door. What he really needed was one of those flaming torches. The darkness was coming and the Reverend might not arrive in time to
peer into the gaping hole forming in the floor to try to pick out whether or not
it would be wise to jump.

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