PREVIEW OF CHAPTER 16

The wall on which the prophets rode is cracking at the seams

Upon the instruments of death the sunlight brightly gleams

Confusion will be my Epitaph, as I crawl a cracked and broken path

If we make it we can all sit back and laugh, but I fear tomorrow I'll be crying

Chapter 16: EPITAPH

x . . . x

His one eye opened wide, and he grinned a manic grin, "I'm back."

x . . . x