Nate Waldo hid in the dark end of the room by the door that was locked and bolted. He was sweating through the back of his shirt and undershirt. Could feel sweat in his gloves and clenched his fists.
Standing in the dark room wondering how he’d made it through the pain. How’d he manage to get into his mid-sixties, how’d he get through all of it, all of the things that didn’t make sense and weren’t linear, but a bloody blur?
Nate stood in the dark. He stood just out of reach of that faded light bulb in the center of the room. The cold from the cinderblock walls conflicted with the sweat on his back and in his gloves. His breath inside the ski mask blew into his eyes in hot hisses.
He stood in the dark watching the man in the chair. There he sat, chained to a chair against the wall under that yellowed light bulb. Nate tried to piece together the bloodstained chain of events that led him there and realized it didn’t matter. Nate clenched his fists inside the gloves and heard muffled knuckles crack and knew it was going to be the greatest day of his miserable life.
This was something I wrote a while ago. Just something short and sweet. It’s kinda a personal story. We all need closure.
Read part 2 HERE