dealt_hand: (i'm always home)
Merle Dixon ([personal profile] dealt_hand) wrote in [community profile] what_wings_dare 2017-02-10 03:25 am (UTC)

He lifts a shoulder. Who keeps count anymore?

"Maybe a month, two, after shit got bad. Sonofabitch left me handcuffed on a roof in Atlanta."

Thinking about it even now, he feels a curl of warm, familiar wrath coil through him, a well-nursed hatred that feels like an old friend. Give him a chance today and he'd skin that fucker alive. Leave him to turn. If he ain't already; if he's still out there.

It's what passes, for Merle, for a constructive response; he dwells on that, rather than the less steady feelings it brings up: the lonely certainty that he was gonna die of thirst up there, slow and ugly, end up a withered husk snapping yellowed teeth at pigeons. (Shit, back then they didn't even know. Thought you had to get bit.) All by his lonesome while God laughed out of a clear blue sky and his baby brother had no one to watch his back.

Yeah, vengeance is the way to go.

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