 |
| Tatti Soup |
It was on the news. They had finally killed him. A candle was lit in a memorial of sorts by the people, just in case. The Scorpion wasn't happy. When he blew out the candle, no one reacted. It was the wind, they thought. But when he kicked the memorial setup, everyone scattered. Respect, he thought, respect. He was THE Scorpion after all. The kicking seemed to work. So, he kicked a trashcan nearby but the damn thing hit him on the face. A few kids started laughing. The nerve. Being a ghost is such a difficult thing these days.
No comments:
Post a Comment