Sunday, July 10, 2011


The door stares at me until a man walks through. His dark attire concerns me, but... oh sweet jesus on a stick he has a gun! I remind myself not to panic, but I’m panicking I’m panicking! I can’t move, practically nailed to the opposite side of the room. He walks forward, the scary look of determination in his eyes. He throws me down, my body rigid with terror. I watch as he steals documents from the safe behind. That’s all I ever was, just a horse in a painting, no more a symbol of wealth... than a common toothpick.

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