Pool_2

in weakness. Hooded Death, slumped in restful inattention on the floor in the corner, sprang to his feet unbalanced at the resonant wail.

'THIS ONE IS MINE!'

The empty hood strained, as did I, to comprehend, to see that impossible figure made black by a halo of unsympathetic light. And as Death withdrew in horror, I grabbed my face with bloodied gloves - my eyes having mercilessly adjusted to this damned spectacle.

'THIS ONE IS MINE!' It echoes even louder now, with all this distance. It was Rocky, shirtless, in denim farmer's coveralls, his right shoulder strap slipped down off his shoulder, his arms holding forward a pale child, a girl. His.

'THIS ONE IS MINE!'

I had never seen her, but she had his eyes - when last he smiled - his last smile ever.

'THIS ONE IS MINE!' echoes amplifying with each recollection. His purple face was swollen, bloated with anguish, as flexing temples bearing sinuous arteries leaped out through a marine-like cut of blond short cropped hair. Sweat rushed down his brow, into his eyes along the lower shaking lids becoming a stream on his right cheek which cascaded down onto her face, the faultless face of this, his, dead child. A last bond