Leaves rest on his grave; coronation: prince of death. Suitable. Fitting. I hope nature's blanket comforts him in hell.

Two shots; one dead. (Must be certain, after all.) Gun's steel muzzle and curling smoke, a soul's ethereal form, drifting -- wispy, black, elusive.

Innocence. Potential. Future. Happiness. Snuffed out, then swept away.

That eye for another, though. Justice prevailed.

Hand scrawls across paper -- thoughts: reason, emotion, satisfaction, flowing easily. Discarded into time's trashbin. Letting go -- but never forgiving.

The letter escapes; white-hot feelings, fresh from furnace, float upon chill wind -- they will rot this fall.

My cool, reserved, unquenchable hatred? Eternal.

* * *

Cat made me do it.

(Note: If you see a word repeated, please tell me.)

Link to contest. Very hard. If you like a challenge, don't hesitate to enter.