By Mark Miner

*Note*: GoDaddy reformatted, and I lost the "Publish" button last week.  I did write one!  It's there now!

This is a bit of stream-of-consciousness writing that fell out today.  I make no warranties express or implied about the quality.

Daggers reached out to receive him as he leaned out the window of the train. Finally they would catch up to him, he saw it clearly.  The years of running, the self-doubt, the agony of deceit, at last he would be prey to their wiles.  The people of India had been patient with him, doubtless, but he had tried them one too many times.  A nick at his arm drew blood, and the sight of this seemed to madden the mob.  The train slowed down, not too much, but noticeably.  He prayed that it would regain steam and clear this place.  The dark mouth of a tunnel loomed large ahead.  That would shake the mob, he thought.  A well-dressed gentleman approached the Brahmin who was holding Packard at the window pane.  The man drew a revolver and shot the Brahmin dead on the spot.  The knife that had been driving Packard towards the deadly window clattered to the floor.  Packard turned around and greeted his savior with a polite "Good day, sir.  I am much obliged for the deliverance you have wrought."  The man looked him up and down, holstered the revolver, and said "My man, have you considered a career with the Shell Oil company?"

 

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