The following is an excerpt from the novella Down to One:
The photographer was dead and his work was, too, in Gideon’s jaundiced view, but not in that of the museum curators. Oh, it came alive briefly, but it was a corpse all the same, even that shot of the society woman, sleek, her hair slicked, her lips pulled back. The cruel smile. Her feral intent exposed. The photographer in the throes of more, more.
Grabbing for what was not his. As indiscriminate with his camera as with his cock.The world full of distortion and false claims. Take those sadly plain women regarded as beautiful owing to a million dollar investment in their looks.
To express one’s venom. To drain the cesspool in one’s mind.
Gideon had to exit the thronged museum. Patrons hungry as wolves devouring one unsatisfying image after another. His back was crying for relief. Walking was
something he did now between sit-downs. His spine had seen to that.Recompense for the innocents. The blind battalions of the deceitful. Old man gibberish entered his mind as the sunlight struck.
Download the full pdf here: Down to One