[An image arcs across Paul's mind with absolute clarity, his memory as flawless as it always is: distantly, a corona of ice blossoming around God's holy skull, the rise of buzzing wings, the no longer unfamiliar punch of bullets.]
It was worth a shot.
[It's not a joke, even if it has the wry, salt-rimed bite of one.]
no subject
It was worth a shot.
[It's not a joke, even if it has the wry, salt-rimed bite of one.]
I didn't do any better.