A Note

        The words flowed effortlessly on the page.  The pen flowed as if on air.  Elston Abbey sat at his desk, preparing his final draft.  The clock was about to strike midnight, and he knew it.  The disease had been eating away at his body for years now.  Tonight, it all ended. 
         The Benton Co. morgue got a call around 7:00 am to come get the body.  The daughter of the deceased did not cry, she did not wimper, she showed no emotion. 
         The paper and ink saw and heard everything.  Noone seemed to notice it there on the desk.  Suicide or natural causes, it didn't matter, old man Elston was 87, it was his time to go soon enough anyways. 


The last words on the page were, 'Deloria, my Dear, I am sorry'