I sauntered up to the door of his Intended, and it reminded me if the trees along the river. The fog closing in, suffocating me and my thoughts of the Intended. The horror.
Three knocks, an eternity to wait for a crack in the door that would never come. I rumaged through my pockets for my pen and pad. She had wanted to know to know about Kurtz in his final days, his final breath, and his final words.
Upon that piece of paper the lingering words:
The horror, the horror.