[BL] Quick transmigration : Destroy the happy endings

 Tic tic...

 In Catskill mountain were tree turned green in summer then explosive color of gold, orange and a red in fall.

 Night wade.

 Cold air of fog cung to the mountains , curling like ghost through frozen steams and attic mills.

 Old logging roads, barely more than the winding dirty part; cut through the dense wooden part where the cabin stood alone.

 Owl hoot. Catskill held the eeire cries of the Eastern cougars, it's sliming bodies heck to trucks for the awaiting of visitors to feast on.

 Tic tic.

 He press on the typewriter; Sweat beads down his low undergrowth cruls, thick browns, round chic to which the smell ink was prominent to his white collar shirt.

 It humid.

 He typed; it click masking to the rusty sound of steps that went unheard at the beginning.

 Too slient to be a black bear and graceful for a grey fox, Intended to belong– Elk.

 When the bald eagle take the sky, it's sharp cried root the air, the owl oof silently and hoot dearly to the long goon tic.

 The man stopped. His tezzo bath from blood bleed, his legs cracking then had hangers.

 He let out a cry. 

 It was over.

 This realization was painful. He wanted nothing more but scream when exhaustion caked the existence of life.

 His life.

 Hungry Disappointed, then hope 

 Buzz of the radio old and quite forgotten held to the news of Mr Phill execution was set to his distance drift. He stop writing, he stopped moving.

 The lantern had gone cold with a stiff of oil lingering to the blood taste he spat. He held too long.

 He could see them; the moon lit that shone; he could see them that linder to the wall the memories that cage this home.

 You know....

 Paper shards and a unbother metal ristle for a man taught to bow and be slient yet ugly negro.

 Beaten, then given a name; his family no more that six feet... Found love, found friends , found corruption 

 Yes, he desire nothing more than the old fuckers more.

 " But then..."

 James Jackson held his last tick out.

 A longing eye and a pause mouth; he limp out closing the door shut and memories to grey for an ex solider.

For the cure..

 For drugs

 For the dead 

 For the missing.

 It was over; just...

 1925.

 New York

 Catskills hill.