The gun was on the table. Harold had been staring at it for what seemed like hours, but knew it had only been minutes.

The choice was his. Walk away from the table, leave this place, never come back and forget all the things he’d seen. Or, pick up the gun and travel down a road he could never get off of until the end of the line.

Harold desperately wished he’d never been curious. He remembered back to only a day ago when his life was simple. How had this even happened to him? He was a simple man, a plain man.

Never had he thought of being anything other than the office drone he was. He liked being a drone. He liked working eight hours a day and then coming home to his small but clean apartment and relaxing in the warm blanket that was his dull life.

Now however, everything was different.

Already, he’d reached forward to take the gun three times before pulling his hand back. He was alone in the room but was pretty sure he was being observed.

For the fourth time in as many minutes his hand – of its own accord – moved forward toward the gun and dark possibilities.







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