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I Am Santo

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The road, swallowed by a raging son, threaded the distance from his children with long shadows, every mile traveled stitching them into safety. He kept the rearview mirror titled low to watch the unconscious man in the backseat, but he didn’t stir, and as Simon battled the bright of the sun, he thought again of Daneen. He was disgraced by what he’d done, the way it was a business transaction at best and revenge against her at worst. He knew why he’d done it. He knew why the man behind him attacked and where all of Simon’s opportunities came from a few years back. They did the “work,” unmoored themselves from the morality anchoring then in society and drifted off into a hateful sea of desperation. But that was risk, success. And human nature. Kill or be killed. Only the strong survive. Here the heartless reigned supreme and in the distance, Simon could see rain cascading in sheets under churning thunderheads on the horizon. Her tears. Her mourning that he’d fallen into the cycle of greed, done the unimaginable, and then his own tears blurred the light and road, smearing the outlying future that stretched ahead in such a gauzy, indistinct way that it felt like that final light, the tunnel those dying describe. And as a chill seized him, like that he felt from the staticky, dark voice of his abandoned conscience that put money in his pockets and guns in his hand, Simon didn’t notice his passenger had awakened and was staring right at him, brown, Jaimie-eyes wide. The chill became an icicle dagger and he winced from surprise, but the guy didn’t move. For a moment Simon wasn’t sure if he was alive, but then he spoke, low and slurred like a punch-drunk fighter after ten rounds. And while his voice barely cleared the hum of the car on the highway, Simon pulled it from the droning: “I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill anyone.”movie Médée

Simon’s rage seethed as if the sun smacked him with a flare. Oh you did. You started a ball in motion that men before you put in play over and over again. You placed your love right in the target, even if you didn’t squeeze the trigger. Your greed did.

“No,” he replied. “She did. She put herself there. And with good reason.” (To be continued…)

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