Freedom in a cell, a door opens to another alarm bell. Past deeds chained to his feet, Lance Hornsby has nowhere to retreat. Always looking up to Pamela, until his neck finally ran out of stamina. Unforgivable were his schemes, the Commonwealth lost out on Lance’s dreams.
He walked with moths in his wallet, knowledge was all Lance had left for them to pickpocket. Nothing left to trade, no one to come to his aid. Two versus one, exile under the threat of the gun. Cornered like an animal in the dead of night, Lance desperately pleaded for a rewrite.
Rick Grimes once said “We’ve all done the worst kind of things just to stay alive,” but Lance’s chance at redemption was deprived.
To Daryl, the crimes would always be invisibly tattooed on Lance’s face, no dignity to grace. Dixon could only offer him an early start in a footrace. Banished to nowhere from whence he called home, a walker’s life to roam.
His words to Carol were heard but not listened, a return to his former nobility would never be christened. Refusing his forever fate, Lance reached for a checkmate. Grabbing the first weapon within reach, nothing more to preach. His sentence was to be impeached.
But it was all for naught, there would be no warning shot. No second chance, less than a millisecond of a glance. An arrow shot at Lance’s neck, no way to stop it without Pamela’s blank check.
Dreams for a bigger, better future shattered, their photo finish scattered. A field of future memories lost, as if Rick’s bridge was never crossed.
Reduced to a frame without a vision, Lance Hornsby could no longer be the Commonwealth’s magician.
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