photo by Buzz Images.
From my theme calendar, titled "Daring."
I would call it something else.
Certain events from last Sunday may be responsible for my attitude adjustment toward the end of the sour scale.
When robins begin to hunt for worms and nest mud in one's eaves troughs, I consider it a sign they need cleaning .
No, I didn't fall off the aluminum extension ladder. That part of the process was accomplished without incident. Nothing like the picture. Much more bathotic.
Intending to whang on the elbow of the down spout to make sure it was clear of maple wings and leaf mulch, I stepped on a sweet little green wooden bench that sits (sat) invitingly under the ivory silk lilac by my kitchen door.
Said sweet little green bench harboured secret rot and collapsed. My left foot doubled under me.
X-rays show no fracture. Apparently I have bones of steel. Interesting colours though and still much larger than the other.
I sport a dragon-headed cane. And threaten people with it.
Just realized that I'm a killer.
In all of the Lillie St. Claire chronicles, people die. Not nicely.
On scene and off. Good people and bad people.
In Stone Child, for example, beaten to death, by troll and big rocks.
The villains get it in Corpse Candles too. They become...um...transported.
And in A Malignity, a little knifey mutilation on Lillie by the chief bad guy precedes his death by Sig Sauer.
Have wiped out a even dozen so far. Shocking. There are so many neat ways to kill people, including death by ghost.
Yet I don't think one will get the impression the stories are littered with corpses. I tend to understate violence by means of the bald fact method.
How do you prefer to see killing done?