Concrete Thoughts

Life is a series of personal choices. What if we could make the right ones at some point... and miss them anyway?...

(no beta-reading on this one, sorry for the mistakes you may find. Reviews are welcome and appreciated, as always.)

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I used to lie. Often.

I used to kill. A lot.

Now it's my turn.

Here I am, lying on the concrete floor, with two bullets in the chest.

I could have saved what was left of my humanity years ago. When I met that woman. She was so nice, so true, so incredibly human. She took care when I was sick. She did not turn her back on me, like so many others did. Of course, most of the time, it was always me turning my back on people, including women. No time for women in my line of work.

I could have decided to change for a better life. Abandon the chase. Forget about the money. Stay away from the guns. But I was way beyond giving up. Too late for me.

This last assignment is one too much. The last drop...

They put a lot of money on the table to hire me to pull the trigger.

This morning, I looked at my face in the mirror and I remember the words I heard a few years ago.

I remember a little hand holding mine when I was fighting the fever. I remember a wet cloth refreshing my forehead. I remember her words: "Just don't tell me what you do. Just get well and don't hurt my son."

Her son was a good boy. I wish I could have had a son like him. And a woman like his mother. I guess I missed something precious back then.

This morning, I looked at my face in the mirror and I saw the man I wanted to be. Cold, efficient, but eventually not a son of a bitch. They told me to shoot. I couldn't. Not on this target. Because I drew the line. That's enough. Right here. No more! Because this time , there are kids involved.

Maybe I'm getting soft. Or weak. Or too old...

Who's gonna give a damn anyway? Maybe her? Maybe her son?

Because I saved her son and a lot of other people, back then, almost getting myself killed in the process.

Might have been a good idea to die that day, on the concrete floor of that Lincoln Hospital parking place.

But I went on. Again.

I missed the target today, on purpose. Instead they pulled the trigger on ME.

This is my way to pay for a life of nonsense.

This is my clumsy but final way to say "Thank you Richie and Helen". You changed my life, yet I could never have been part of yours.

I quit. Did I get some dignity back? Heaven... or Hell will tell.

My name was Thomas Callendar.

The End.