They sentenced Jeremiah Livingstone-Tannin to three hundred years in prison for three brutal murders. It stayed on the books, though the Old West rose and fell, and Jeremiah kept on ticking away in prison, serving his time. Occasionally a warden or a guard would catch a glimpse of him smiling that too-white smile with the teeth a little sharper than you'd think would be possible. But they shook their heads as if waking from a dream and the image was gone.
He was a model prisoner, and never in fights, neither starting nor finishing them. Nobody ever seemed to ask why he didn't age, or didn't eat at mealtimes. And three hundred years after his incarceration, to the very day, the warden released Jeremiah Livingstone-Tannin, though for some reason he insisted they let him out at midnight. Just as he was walking out of view, the guard would later swear, Jeremiah spread that old dark cloak of his, and took off like a bat in the night.
Mokalus of Borg
PS - I've (already) grown tired of Friday Photo. I think this idea is more my style.
PPS - Besides, everyone takes photos.
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