The Stuff of Nightmares Part 10
He held the gun firmly, finger hooked around the trigger. It felt right somehow. There was none of the fear that he had felt on that hot, dirty, stinking day. None of the desperation to live.
There was still the guilt.
This is how it should have been, that last bullet ready. He could have turned the gun on the guards, gone down fighting. He could have turned it on himself, saved a life.
But he hadn't. He had been selfish. Ever since that day he had tried to atone.
Tried hard to atone by his deeds.
By his life.