Chapter 1

The gun laid smoking on the ground…












































…next to the tire swing…


















































…buried in the uncut lawn.


















































Click.


















































The moon light flew from the sky onto the landscape of the earth. It raced across the fields onto the small house. It crept in through the blinds and peered onto the bed with little regard for the current resident. This particular resident was already awake and watched as the light stretched across the room.
His name was Witticker, a middle-aged man dressed in dark blue pajamas held together with white plastic buttons. His face, while wholly unremarkable, seemed to showcase the beauty of the commonplace. Nothing out of line or world weary, made complete with a mop of red hair, dark orange in the light, swept with intent.
Witticker, lying awake, stared back through the window shades at the intruding light and both sat motionless waiting for the other to blink. His eyes began to water against the white light and a single tear rolled down the length of his cheek. As the droplet fell Witticker moved and caught it in his hand, staring into it as it slid into the creases of his palm. Gazing at the tear in the darkness Witticker realized he no longer wanted to be in this room. In fact, he didn’t even want to be in this house.
Witticker rose and looked from wall to wall with a trampled expression hung upon his face. He had to leave. It had to be tomorrow.
Far away the moon shone brightly. It lit up the fields and forests for miles in every direction. It shone across the lakes and rivers, basking in its own reflection. It hung in the sky like a white hole poking through a large black cloth.