Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Poison of the Damned

"Fucking poison ivy..." He thought with an annoyed tone as the rough circle on his wrist burned slightly more. He ran his past few escapades through in his mind. Not hunting, in any case, he had a long sleeve flannel shirt on. Maybe the building of the bonfire? Possible, it was dark in those woods, but he would have gotten more than just a spot on his wrist.
    He rubbed around the damned circle with his fingernails, trying to appease the nagging sensation, unsuccessfully. Dissatisfied he got up from his shadowy leather chair, swooped and pulled his coat on in one smooth motion, and was out the door in less than three seconds. Into the night again.

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