April…something. Who knows, who cares. This is probably my last entry. I can’t feel my leg below the knee anymore, and every time I drop off to sleep, I sink a little deeper, stay a little longer, and come back a little weaker than the time before.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I have some good memories. Eating Marianne’s ice cream with my mother. Riding the Giant Dipper 67 times in a row. Making love with Shawnee, waist-deep in the sparkling river.
And at least I’m at peace, which is more than you can say for Fred and Evelyn. Asmador brought their heads back yesterday in plastic grocery bags and set them up on a plank so I can see them from where I’m lying. Judging by the expression on their faces, their mouths wide open and screaming and their eyes practically popping out of their heads, those two were anything but peaceful at the end.
Serves ’em right: they should have treated me better when they had the chance. They all should have treated me better. And now, thanks to Asmador, who just left for the Marshall City library to research the current whereabouts of Judge Brobauer, they’re all going to pay.
How’s that for a happy ending?
Yours truly, Luke Sweet, Jr., Murphy’s Farm, Marshall County, California, USA, North America, Western Hemisphere, Earth, the Galaxy, the Universe, and whatever lies beyond.