Walküre, Excerpt

An Excerpt from the journal of Ezekiel

Winter 1927, Washington DC.

In the smoke rising from my cigarette there briefly appeared Valkyrie riding atop an 8-legged horse. I dashed it away with a breath of cold steam and leaned to look down the street, pulling my cuffs down covering the gap between them and my leather gloves.

Down Pennsylvania Ave., starting slowly at first, the will-o-the-wisps found their homes in the streetlights, small amber pools of light in an ice mist.

I savored, as much as I could, the last hot drag of the cigarette and let it slowly seep from my nose. Across the asphalt strip a lone figure made his way out of the National Archives and down the street, sporting a pace more appropriate for a thoroughbred than a man.

It took three blocks to come within 50 feet of the mark. He didn’t notice me. Not many do. 15 seconds. Time to breathe, let it flow like water. Relax. Exhale. Squeeze the trigger.

As I pulled and my gun barked the coat in front of me that had once held a man billowed out and fell to the pavement. My feet found their way somewhere above my head and the world turned clear. Behind the smell of brimstone gun smoke my head was filled with the knowledge of blood about to be spilled. How a dog may have smelled someone’s fear, I knew this man’s hate. I was going to die.

The most I can remember of that moment on the street is the first place my mind went when my life was on the line; Where my mind always went. Blank eyes that haunted every dream.

That bastard of what might have been a Man that I tried to shoot in the back on Pennsylvania Avenue took my hand near clean off with a switch-blade. I always wondered how he did that. I’ve tried it since and haven’t quite gotten the hang of it. its probably easier with a knife-hand.

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