A man carries things in life. Some things a man’s forced to carry, for no man is his own master. Some things we want to carry. Mostly, it’s a mixture. This morning I dressed myself, and I filled my pockets with what I’d need: A comb, a wallet, and today I carried a gun. I had been on this path a long time, my way planned out for me before I saw the end of it. Here is another door, a door like the others, only this is the door I walk through. A bell rings as I open it.
Drabble Series: My Fatal Choice
Tale Told 