After the Fall
The room was half dark, the only light came from the cracks of the shutters, almost completely closed. All was silent, and between the various furniture the only thing out of place was a blanket on the ground, around which was wrapped a man. His hair was brown with some gray hairs, a sign of old age raging, and he had deep dark circles that crossed his face and his arms were scarred: he was a soldier, a fighter, maybe even of high rank. A weak ray of sunshine lit up his face and the sudden heat was enough to wake him.
-Jim. - Began to speak, yawning, but he stopped immediately, taking his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes. It was useless to invoke his name, he was not there and he never would have been again. Farewell smell of coffee in the morning, farewell bright ideas, farewell crystalline laugh, almost childlike, farewell sudden mood changes. He, his boss, his mentor, his protector, his friend, the person who made him rise from the ashes of his previous life. But he, on the contrary, would not have been resurrected. Even when he had placed the weapons that day, he realized that it was not a trick which had not been made aware, it was all true. The sound of that shot still rang in his ears and the pain, which was not suitable for a hard man of war like him, attacked him again. He still remembered the sight of that dead body and the ghost of the last laugh still on his face, the blood that flowed on the gray floor and the scream inner that had flowed from his heart. A tear, a single tear fell down his face, but he wiped it quickly, getting up and kicking off the blanket. It was now past three years and today was the day: the day of his revenge.