As I went by, today, there was this path I followed and there were some boys who were playing with guns, it seemed. One of the boys was a king of the gunland and the guns were his subjects. King was overthrown by his own people as the instrument fell off his hand. Hit the ground. Ground had leaves on it. Ground was red. Blood. I stood and watched for a while until it occured to me: I must make lunch, so I grabbed the weapon of the dead king, and it started to sing. It sang until silence, sweet violence. I took the king by his hand. And. Everything went as I'd planned. Until the king started screaming again, inside my head. But in vain, I knew as well as he did that he's dead. Bang. Bang. The Dead King.
