by L.R. Bonehill
It didn't kill him, didn't even make him stronger; just another day older and no closer to a death that would never come. He stepped from the smoking wreckage of the car and dusted himself down. He'd be sore and stiff for a few days, but that was about all. He wasn't sure why he still did it after all these years, but then he guessed that if the only thing worth living for was dying, he had to at least try. Times changed, people changed, the world changed, but he remained immutable and alone. He walked on into the cold night and time stretched endlessly ahead of him.
L.R. Bonehill is not to be trusted. Some people made that mistake a few years ago, and... well... they paid.