Everybody said the problem with Flint Johnson was he got his bell rung by Jamie Jenkins in the fourth grade. Jamie had knocked him cold with a piece of scrap rebar and the poor bastard pissed his Dickies in front of the whole school. Years later, the talk around town was that Flint’s blow to the head was what made him do all those terrible things. But I knew better. Flint had a demon in him, same as his daddy.
I was a year younger than Flint growin up, but we walked the three miles to school together every day cause we was neighbors. He didn’t like me much, but he didn’t have no friends, and he loved the yellow cake momma put in my lunch box every day. Continue reading “Mercy Kill by J. David Jaggers”