Death Cometh at Night

There is fury in the silent kill that happened at dawn. The guttural screech of the pavement was ambiguous; the fretted dust came down to the womb of a mother in Utah who did not know that her heart will break to pieces the next day when she hears the news.

The fractured purr of the wheels turning bore no joy to it. The absolutes of ambling feet were not amusing to the petrified crowd who witnessed the fathom-frozen taunt of the ghastly shadow himself.

One does not point words at the dead. The petering out of half-wishes and bloody hopes had been completely asphyxiated.

Then there was the numbing silence...