Snow Angel

“I want you to look like confused, stupid snow angels; face DOWN with legs and arms fucking SPREAD !”

Flecks of warm spittle speckle my left cheek as you scream at the lobby. The thin carpet, the kind made for common areas in office buildings, only slightly dampens the sounds of sobs, and shallow breath from the patrons around me. I hear Gary still in the corner to my right. I can hear the the low, wet gurgling from his neck. I am stuck looking left. I dare not move. I am stuck looking left past Mr. Udal’s particularly pasty legs. I can see up his denim shorts. I am scared.

A gun shot. Chunks splatter glass. A loud thump prefaces Kelly’s eyewear tumbling across the floor. I hear a shuffle; a tap dance in combat boots moves you across the lobby. Bag in hand, you boot crush Mr. Udal’s wrist in your retreat. A gun shot from my right makes my ears ring dull. Gary is alive!

Blood soaks outward from the hole in your white button up shirt. The bag drops. My tears blur your fall. I love you…

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