TRUDGE

The amber light of the setting sun flashes cleanly off the ocean surface, blinding me temporarily as I lift my gaze up off the ground and out over the horizon. The cool, salty ocean breeze feels good against my hot skin as it ruffles lightly through my tee-shirt. The white sand of the beach and the soft, sparse clouds turns yellow and red with time as the sun sinks further down below the horizon.

I drop my gaze back down to the pavement as I continue to trudge up the road. My jeans wine lightly with each closing of my laborious gate. In my right hand swings a copper plated Smith and Wesson 45. Its slide is locked to the rear, and its clip empty. Lifting it up into my gaze I stare at the custom cherry wood grip and mother of pearl caped rivets. It’s a beautiful gun. Still, I shake my head in disgust and allow it to drop back down in to its rhythmic swing at my side.

“We go live to our WVEC affiliate at the scene.” I hear the news broadcast from an open gas station door as I pass.

“Thanks, Paul. I’m here at this motel where just about an hour ago, there was a gun fight that left seven men and one woman dead. Police refuse to comment on the situation, however we have learned that all seven of the deceased men were carrying automatic weapons, and had opened fire on a single room.”

I continue my march up the road as the report fades into the background. The street lamps spot my sullen path with their light as the sky turns to the dark of night.

“Stupid woman.” I grumble softly, my throat tightens as my eyes begin to tier over.