Today's words, furnished by 3WW were: Cajole, temper and recluse. I chose to do a continuation of last week's 3WW. It is dark too.
The pain, the rage, the guilt – it ate at his soul. Night after night, he rambled through the park. Seeking out the recluses hidden in deep, dark places. Cardboard surrounded barrels of fire. The smell of wasted hope and unfulfilled dreams suffocating in the black pool of despair. Pieces of his soul withered and died every time these unseen people denied him entrance. They tempered refusal with sorrow, but none of that helped him. He had to find the refuse of humanity that had taken his sister. The scrap of a man that had spoiled the one spark of light left in his life. He tried to cajole the dismal outsiders into giving him any hint of where the murderer had gone. When that didn’t work, he flashed the burnished chrome-plated Smith and Wesson. The effort was futile – they’d scattered like fragments of a nightmare, scurrying off to dark corners. The police wouldn’t help him, vigilante justice was beneath them. The hidden society of humanity, living on castoffs of society wouldn’t help him, he wasn’t of their community. So, he walked, and searched, and screamed wordlessly at the night, anguish coating the sound. He’d take care of the murdering bastard. Then, he’d take care of the source of his torment.
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