Goodbye, Fredo
He tried not to think of the blood tainting the old wood of the boat. He tried to erase the deafening sound of the gunshot, which was so far away yet seemed an inch away. Guilt. A strong word Michael Corleone did not wish to feel.
He mustered the urge to erase the voice of his father from his head. Helpless eyes and a terribly desperate shout of, "I'm smart!" repeated in Michael's head like a mantra. There was no way to stop the repetition, no way to stop the clench of his fingers. The blunt tips of his nails left dents on his palm.
Fredo lay dead in the fishing boat, on his command. One less brother, one less family connection.
It was necessary, Michael tried to reason with himself. He went against the family, and yet, Michael could coherently recognize the action was one his father would never have committed.
Michael wondered why he did not cry. He wondered what had happened to himself, the once baby-faced college-boy who was prepared to fight for his country. He felt the warmth of Fredo's handshake. He was the only family-member pleased with Michael's decision to join the Marines.
Michael pressed his knuckles to his lips. "Goodbye, Fredo," he mumbled.
A/N- I literally just wrote this in under 20 minutes and decided to share. I finished watching Part II in my Film Studies class today. This movie affected me more than I expected it to, so naturally I felt the urge to write about it.
This short story takes place right at the end of Part II.