Fin

My family has always been one for theatrical goodbyes— On this day 234 years ago, my great (etc.) grandfather calmly walked into his cabin and shot his wife of ten years dead, not bothering to dispose of the body before eating the dinner she had prepared only minutes before.

As you probably guessed that story was a complete fiction, grounded in nothing resembling fact or legitimate research.

But since you have reads this far—It is time for me to go. The autumn moon lights my way. And now I smell the rain, and with it pain. And it's headed my way. Ah, sometimes I grow so tired. But I know I've got one thing I got to do: Ramble on.