Mike Norman hoisted himself out of his car and lumbered up the small, grassy hill towards the cemetery. He wore a crinkled black suit and tie, his one outfit for weddings and funerals, and sipped from a half full bottle of Jameson Whiskey clenched in his chubby hands. The graves here at the cemetery just outside were among some of the area's oldest. A white family from the early 1800's was buried in one plot, their lifelong slave buried just outside the family plot. Plenty of the graves read the names Norman, Calhoun, Tillman, and Johnson. Every single member of Mike's family were buried here, including the latest.

He stopped at the grave they'd just filled this afternoon. The marker wasn't a headstone, but a simple engraved piece of granite marking the grave. 

JOHN NORMAN 
1986-2015
Beloved Son and Grandson

Mike took a long chug off his bottle and drained nearly all that was left in just a few gulps. Daniel was buried right next to John, and Mike's parents were a few rows up. He remembered when they died. The pain he felt at losing his momma was bad, not so much his father, but it was nothing compared to losing Daniel... and now John. 

A thought struck him as he stood there in the dark. John had been his only grandson. Mike was the last Norman. Everyone else still alive were the sons and daughters of Norman girls who married and changed their name. A family filled with roughnecks, scumbags, and psychos had come down to just him. The shit from the 80's had been called a war, but could you really call it a war when it was so one-sided? Billy Brown had taken everything from Mike: His bar, his empire, his son, and now his grandson. Like the war the people down here loved to talk about, the Norman cause was a lost one.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a picture. It was him and John years ago, the boy was just two at the time. Right before Daniel was killed, he and Mike were at the state zoo in Columbia. His ex-wife took the photo of them in front of the fish aquarium, John on his shoulders and smiling while Mike grinned wide. The little boy from all those years ago, his little boy, was now in the cold ground. He told Mike he'd never leave Pickett and it turned out he was right. He laid the photo on the grave marker and patted it. He hoped wherever John was, he remembered that day in Columbia all those years ago.

Mike fought back the tears as he walked back to his car and climbed in. A duffle bag in the passenger seat held all he needed from his house. He hadn't even told Bettie Jo his plan to leave. He figured Billy was after him now for good, so the less she knew the better. He started up the car and headed towards the highway towards Georgia. He pulled over to the side just before he got to the bridge separating the two states and stared up at the big, green highway sign welcoming people to Pickett County. 

This horrible little county that gave his father and uncles vast opportunities had taken away everything from him. Even when he stopped fighting, it took and it took regardless if he deserved it or not. And still he kept coming back for more. Not now. He learned his lesson the hard way. The war was over, Billy had won. He could have this shitty little county in the goddamn backwoods. Tears were streaming down his as he got out the car and finished off the last little bit in the whiskey bottle. He sobbed as he tossed the bottle against the Now Leaving Pickett County sign. Fuck that sign, fuck Billy Brown, and fuck everyone in Pickett County. He pulled himself back into the car and sat there for several minutes before he dried his eyes and started the car back up. 

Mike Norman, the last Norman, pulled out onto the highway and crossed the bridge into Georgia. He had no idea where he was headed, but any place was bound to be better than where he was coming from.