Skeletons, beware that when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster.

For when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you, Frederick Nietzsche.

They'd spent the afternoon out on the back haker, checking snares, something the old

man had done with his son, and now enjoys with his grandson.

Though the boy has more balls than his father ever had.

He'd passed a test today.

When the old man gave the boy permission to kill a still scrambling, snared hair, anyway

he liked, the boy had approached the animal, caught up somehow by its foot rather than its

throat, and strangled it to death.

Stomping it, stabbing it, or snapping its neck would have suffice.

But that, the way he'd grabbed it with one hand and slowly squeezed, enjoying the task,

it was impressive.

It was superior to the other options, more personal, less brutal, though somehow the last thought

anyone but a true killer would have had, in such a situation.

In exchange for assisting with the hunt, the old man, the old detective, had agreed to share

more stories for the boy's project.

I must say, son, you choking that rabbit was a hell of a thing to see, a hell of a thing.

The old man takes a slow sip of his drink and appraises the boy.

There's something different about him now.

Something familiar.

I've heard it said that choking a human being to death is much more difficult than one

would believe.

...