by Albert Long
Back at the team’s new apartment, Miguel, Matt, Mimi, and Jericho were busy moving furniture, painting walls, and hanging pictures. They were within 10 minutes walking distance from Owl’s place. Owl had truly been a gift to them. Though no one disrespect her by asking, the team speculated heavily that Owl had wings and was really an Angel, performing stunts atypical of a pari-geist. There was a harmony within the apartment. Death was good.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: EPILOGUE
On a stretch of red clay and mud in southern Lousiana, a trail of green plasma slowly oozes forward, getting thicker with each minute. The unorganized form has yet to evolve to at the most minimal level; however, it has a purpose—it always has. “Magda,” it cries. “Magda”!
THE END