The Tattooed Man

Bobby Blade

Samuel stepped through the automatic doors, the cool refreshing air from the AC vents suspended above him hit him like a splash of ice cold water. It was summer outside, the heat dry and scorching – he welcomed the coolness of the fully air-conditioned department store. It was connected to the main mall, it led to endless stores and kiosks that provided something for everybody who paid it a visit that day.

He made his way through the wide aisle that led to the open establishments full of bustling shoppers. He went there looking for a baseball cap for his son, he planned on surprising him with it when he got home – a well-deserved reward for good grades on his report card.

A tall thin man, his head full of skull tattoos scattered throughout with flames in between each of them, pushed his way through customers with an urgency…

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He Sat There

Bobby Blade

Rodger sat there. The car was still running, cold and idle. The windows showed signs of defrost, but for the most part, icy particles still clung to the surface of the windshield. When he exhaled vapor rose and dissipated into nothingness. There was an eerie silence around him, a sorrowful sadness without a dash of hope. The red light turned green, but he did not engage the vehicle to move. He sat there without concern.

The pickup truck behind him honked repeatedly, followed by an irritated voice, urging him to move on. But Rodger remained still. He looked down at the revolver gripped in his right hand, it was cold and the smell of the inside of the barrel seeped into his nostrils. The hammer was cocked back and his finger was cautiously resting against it. A tear rolled down his face and landed on the chamber. The coldness of…

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