~
It was, once more, such a normal night for him. He was determined to get his drink this time. He had made up his mind.
When I walk this road, I will ignore my conscience. I refuse to stop and help. I've had enough blood on my hands for the past year.
His hand whisked around the rim of his hat in front.
And no more of getting you dirty. As promised..
He pressed on, soon forgetting everything that he had pondered for the past few months. They were just nightmares and hallucinations of the blood on his hands. He had almost turned the corner when the building began to have voices growing with intensity.
He walked faster, trying his best to ignore the possibility of a disaster once again happening and more blood would spill on his hands. But then, it clicked. Her ear-piercing scream and pleads forced his body to tighten with anger. Swiftly, his body involuntarily began to charge at the sound, not caring of the consequences or situation of what would happen next. He just knew that this was not a cry of someone who was doing just fine.
His bloodshot eyes making time stop for him as he stopped the blow the man whom had thrown her body to the ground.
The fight was automatic. The screams, he never heard and the blood was invisible until the end.
Clenched fists and breathing hard, he stared at his mess before being tripped up by the sudden movement of the person behind him.
I'm not gonna get my drink tonight either..
Turning around, he swept his hair back as his eyes began to focus in on the suspect..
You again?
YOU ARE READING
The Quiet Sin
General Fiction"It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams." ~ Gabriel García Márquez Growing old is the mind of the damned, and the damned one is 'me'. The world doesn't want me this way...
