TurtleSage

Nobody seems to know the honest truth of where the Gun came from, or why it came to us, or even what it is that ties a person to their weapon of choice, should they choose it.  Over time, it's just become the sort of thing that's accepted as a part of daily life; a storied object often found in the dreams of brash youth, and the regrets of broken old men.  Of course I was the former and in spite of my various misadventures, have yet to feel the pangs of nostalgia that indicate my change into the latter.  When my father presented the option to me, a mousy boy of the tender age of 13, I could barely contain my excitement.  The town folk had alw

3 It struck him how painfully insignificant a tombstone could make a person seem.  The last tangible mark we could leave on the earth had so very little meaning in and of itself.  Looking down at his resting place, Frank couldn't help but wonder what, if anything , would be remembered about the man who was buried deep beneath it.   The joy he'd brought, the pain, the terror and inevitable sadness.  Maybe it was silly to expect a simple rock to be able to convey that sort of thing, he considered.  Maybe it was for the best that way;  to let the story fade into the tattered fragment of memory and rumor.  Maybe… Back at the precinct, the

It was night when the rower returned.  Of course, it always was, but never the less he found it as a surprise each time, comforting and chillingly nostalgic.  The churning waters beneath the docks were soothing, but distracting in the same right, tugging his attention by the corners as he fiddled with the ropes that kept his modest rowboat anchored in place.  Occasionally, he found himself peering across the waters, a wide, shimmering river decorated with the numerous reflected lights, rippling in the mirrored sky.  How long had it been since he had returned to that place, he wondered? He dismissed the thought quickly, more concerned with the