Kicking the can of stigma down the road


  • Tony Foster


As I strolled through the vestibule of memories past, I witnessed the unfolding of hell’s fire. The caterwauling of the desperate and disarmed provided the shadowy overcast as a young man of stealthy step and demoniacal eyes lay hold of a 45 caliber pistol, and with superior marksmanship, picked off the pristine, one by one. What bedeviled such a man that he could, without compassion or bereft of charity, take aim at his own, and with calculated thievery, deprive a man/woman of his last breath?