A vein throbs to the left of his forehead. It pulsates, mirroring the violence in the room.

To these children, the door William has just come through is a portal. Being shoved through it means a trip to hell where only demons come to visit and the man before them fits that...

Fuck.” She hollers cursing the night. Cursing the shadows, cursing the unknown condemned she intends to meet this evening. Tears roll down her cheeks landing on her bullet proof vest.

The only sound is the audible record of her thrusts as she becomes wetter. Her beautiful voice echoing in his head, they share the sounds of their amorous flesh moving in unbridled rhythm.

William sees it all happen again. The pain is not in the event. The subjection to it and his powerless state each time is where his anguish lies. He is unable to influence the situation,...

The dead are the past and we cannot escape the past. Without the past there will be no future.