The Case of the Black Sheep

He’s just been spilled like an empty bucket, a bucket that is eventually refilled with bones.

He’s become a pile of dry bones, listening to his accusers build their groundless case against him, painting him black with their accounts. His skin, lying bare from the loss of his clothes, shudders in anticipation – in dread.

So he stores the cold in his blackened bones and the warmth in his breaking heart, knowing that even as all is lost, he has finally finished his life’s work, so stands back with outstretched arms to admire his magnum opus.

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