The Final Straw

Greg’s eyes widened in horror, staring balefully at his partner’s face, a trickle of blood running down from his head into his beard. Then he fell on the floor, silent as a rock.

Petrified, Bradley gaped at the limp body before him, his face bloodless. He gurgled in shock and stared at the stained weapon in his hand. He gasped and dropped the statue. As it hit the ground, its loud thud yanked him out of his silence.

He staggered backwards, his legs wobbling together. “Oh my God! Oh my God, I killed him.”

Shuddering, he threw himself on Greg’s chair behind the desk, his eyes pinned to the body. “What did I do?” he sobbed, thoughts roiling through his head. Greg was right, he thought. I am useless … a coward, a failure like he always said. He squeezed his eyes shut and hissed, “A murderer!”

An icy feeling took over his stomach as the numbness of shock subsided. He realized not only had he killed his best friend, his partner, but he did it in their office, in the middle of a working day.

Swiftly, he ran to the door and made sure it was locked. He pressed his back against it, wincing, searching for a way out. “I can’t run away. Everyone will know,” he mumbled in panic. “I can’t go to jail.” He banged his head against the door. “I have to do something … fast.”





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