In Pace Requiescat
A Gunsmoke Story

The moon shone blood red over the silent ruins of the house, casting an evil glow on the shattered pile of mortar, bricks, and wood. In the distance a lone raven cawed with lonely persistence, its monotonous tone declaring the same message over and over. And beneath the call, a cultured voice could be heard.

“But evil things, in robes of sorrow,

Assailed the monarch’s high estate

(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow

Shall dawn upon him, desolate!);

And, round about his home, the glory

That blushed and bloomed

Is but a dim-remembered story

Of the old time entombed.”

THE END (FOR NOW)

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