Cherreads

Golden Steam

Crimsade
It's been a decade now. I can still feel the coldness of the barrel. The way the gunpowder smelled is still stained into my memories. Running was supposed to be easy; just avoid trouble when needed. But it follows me. The figure dancing in the shadows, refusing to leave my side. Everything was starting to get better, but then she appeared, the spitting image of her. She came asking me for help. The words that left her lips were a request I would never accept. But what if, what if there was a means to justify my guilt? A way to justify why I pulled the trigger that day.
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