Luke was gone. He found the one thing he always knew was waiting for him, a bullet with his name. The buzzers were going off. Why could he hear them?
“Where am I?” he wondered aloud.
He left the hospital, somehow, and was in a dark corridor. Voices, they echoed in his head.
He looked around at the nothingness. A darkness, filled with only doors.
Finally, Luke chose. He opened one door and a force pulled him inside.
Luke was in his past, reliving his worst sin. As a rookie, Luke shot a boy. He watched himself, planting the gun.
About the Creator
The Man Behind The Mask
From fiction to reality there’s tons to share about this crazy life. From being a single father, an officer, and having had many insane adventures while I learned about the world, my imagination runs wild with ideas.
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Lap Cat
My nose is dripping, and Delia is tracing her fingers through my hair. Her husband is shirtless by the microwave, heating up leftovers from New Year's Eve. In 60 seconds, I'll be shoving mouthfuls of risotto between my quivering lips like a child and picking at semi-stale dinner rolls. Then, I'll pass my plate to one of their three Tabby cats (whom I can never tell apart) and let him/her/them (?) lick it clean.
By Erin Latham Shea5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
How often do we find ourselves haunted by such guilt-sodden memories. Such guilt is not the sole province of officers trying to cover up & get away with a mistake.