The bristles tighten around my neck.
I look, curious, who I may greet as my executioner, yet they remain a specter.
It tightens.
I’m always reminded… I had the gun.
It was only just in case something happened… just in case never happened.
It tightens.
Nobody home. A simple break in, it’d become routine. Per routine, my finger sat on the trigger.
Nobody should’ve been home.
It tightens.
The kid screamed… my finger tightened too much.
The noose wound around my neck constantly tightens. I just pray for the day when the hangman will pull the lever…
and release me.
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