Katie Book's Production and Media presents man Hunt, an original audio drama podcast,
written, produced, and narrated by Earl Sewell. Tired and miserable, Marshall
pulled his cruiser into his driveway, put it in park, and turned off
the motor. He reached up under his front seat and pulled out a container
of rum and coke he'd mixed and had been drinking from. He twisted off
the cap, punkered his lips, and took several deep gumps of the liquid.
He growled with satisfaction and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
And she fucking left me after all these damn years, he spoke aloud
to hear himself talk. You can have the house, Marshall, he mocked
Stacy. I don't want anything from you. I can make it on my
own. Well fuck you too, Stacy. I don't need you. I
don't need anybody. An angry tear began to run down Marshall's cheek. I'm
so sorry, Lena the alcohol speaking for Marshall. Now, Edie is so
sorry. I'm a bad father. Oh horld, poor father, and I
don't deserve to live, Marshall proclaimed, as he took several more gulps of
the alcohol. Don't like coming home to an empty house, Marshall pointed at
his house. Yeah, you, motherfucker, I'm talking to you. He
pointed at the house as if it were a person. You keep torturing me
with memories. Every damn room I go in to as a memory, and
you toss it up in my face every time I turned a corner. Well,
let me tell you something, you bastard. Not today, not this
time, No, not anymore. You're not going to torture me anymore.
Marshall removed his weapon from its holster. The glock forty five caliber weapon would
definitely make a big mess if he blew his brains out, but it would
put him out of his misery. He took a few more gulps of the
liquid and finished it off. He then placed the barrel of the weapon inside
the cave of his mouth. He bit down on the steel, leaned his
head back, and closed his eyes. He placed his index finger around the
trigger and paused. When he heard another car pulling into his driveway behind him,
He immediately assumed it was Stacy coming back home to him. He opened
up the car door and stepped out, but was disappointed when he saw it
wasn't her, it was Quentin. Uh, Marshall. Quentin called out to
him, h what are you doing. Marshall brandished his weapon in a threatening
manner. Back up, Quentin, Quentin, I'm afraid of Marsha's display of
aggression. Boy. If you don't put that damn thing away avoided, you
man, get the hell away from me. Suddenly, Quentin stopped in his
tracks, realizing the dangerous situation he just wandered into. Marshall. Brother,
Dear, you don't want to hurt yourself or anyone else. You're upset,
that's all I can understand that. Why don't we go in the house and
talk about this. No, that's the damn problem, the house's dortureud be.
Marshall turned toward the house and fired around through the back door window.
Marshall, Quentin was firm, and now you're going to hurt somewhat. Put
your weapon down now, No, man, tell me why she left me?
She threw away fifteen years just like that. Why she didn't give a
dn. Quentin cautiously approached Marshall. I no, dear brother, I know
how much it must hurt. But we can talk about it. We can
work through this. Quentin moved even closer to his brother. She was my
baby, man, Why did's somewhat run over my baby? Lida Marshall looked
up at the sky and called out to her Leada. Marshall began sobbing uncontrollably.
Quentin was finally directly in front of him. Ah, do believe you've
flipped out? Brother, Dear. Marshall was silent for a long moment as
he digested what Quentin had said. Let me have the weapon, Marshall.
Quentin placed his hand on the weapon. Just open your fingers and let it
go, he spoke softly. Marshall opened his hand and let Quentin take the
weapon from him. Come on there, come on home with me. You
don't have to stay here. It's too painful right now. Quentin cradled Marshall's
head and held him tightly. Earl Sewell's riveting Narration captures the spirit of the
American South with a depth that brings the early twentieth century to light. Follow
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