Annabelle was walking down with her when she saw him.
He was wearing his uniform.
His bald, pale head was glistening in the February sun.
Observing the street.
Strolling as if he had any right to be walking down the same street he had killed her brother.
Annabelle never played God, she played the submissive.
But it seemed like playing God caused less damage as playing human.
He waved at her, not remembering.
Not remembering the man he had killed for simply stepping out with something in his hands.
Not remembering how he ripped out her heart.
Not remembering how he had taken a husband, a father, and a brother.
She tucked on Annabelle's wrist, walking forward step by step.
And for the first time, Annabelle asked herself if it was the skin color that made him not remember killing?
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colors of society #wattys2017 [completed]
Short StoryWe all come in different shapes, sizes, and colors. Yet, white describes the only color society accepts, brown is cursed and judged, black is deemed, pink represents the innocence society is so obsessed with. Another unhealthy obsession a...
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