The Final Straw

His gaze dropped to his crime. He gulped. “I’m really sorry, Greg.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “But I won’t go to jail because of you.”

With shaky steps he returned to Greg’s desk and opened the right drawer. He glanced at the silent pistol inside and recalled how Greg used to laugh at him every time he said he wanted to buy one too, how he told him he would never dare to use it even if someone broke in and threatened his life.

A shiver ran through him as he felt the cold steel against his fingertips. “Here is where you were wrong, Greg.” He fixed his eyes on the pistol. “Here is where you were wrong.” He evened his breath and grabbed the gun.

He took his time feeling its weight. It fit perfectly in his grip. He walked steadily toward Greg’s body and squatted beside it. “This is the only way.”

He took one last look at his friend and wiped the wetness from his cheeks. “This is how I prove to you and everybody else that I’m not a useless coward.” Then he pulled the trigger.


Carefully, a CSI bent over to examine Greg’s head trauma. Then he turned to the detective assigned to the case, shaking his head in sorrow as his eyes captured Bradley’s, and said, “He died instantly.”

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