~The bandit’s body slumped to the ground, knees hitting first,followed by the rest.His dead weight pushed dust into the air in a swirling cloud.The blood flowed from his head,splicing like river canals,delaying slightly on pebbles before flowing on through the street.~
Remember: the plot is nothing more than footprints left in the snow after your characters have run by on their way to incredible destinations. — Ray Bradbury
