An unintended object, say a bit of metal on a suspender or a piece of jewelry, or perhaps the clavicle, humerus, or any of the numerous ribs in a chest, or even an unlucky bystander or animal who happens along the way, can all deflect the intended path of a fired bullet. Certainly the elements, such as wind and hail, can cause a bullet to go astray. It is beyond fundamental to make the argument that poor eyesight, an unsteady hand, or nerves themselves can detract a bullet from whence it was meant to lodge. But above all else, I believe it is the ephemeral brush of fate that most controls events: Le fortune del destino—“the fortunes of destiny.” As it is, so it is. How else can it be possible to endure the gossamer-thin line between success and ruin? Well-being and frailty? Survival and death? I was sitting by myself in the main hall of the Dalwich police station, such as it was. Really little more than one large room with worn plank-board flooring and a tall, sorrowful counter that looked well maligned and stretched half the width of the space, which was only about twenty-five feet across.
What do You think about The Dalwich Desecration (2016)?
