It was a Sunday. But unlike any other Sundays, today was special. Alex has a story to tell. But as hard as it is, he had to bite his tongue (for now). At the moment, the interested pair of ears was no where in sight. You can tell just by his eyes, he was exhausted. Of course, sleeping in a car for one night can do that to anyone. He kept on looking at his watch. His anxiety was growing to an obvious frustration. He shook his cigarette box, there were some left. He put one in his mouth. Feeling his pockets and looking around the car for a source of fire. An easy task, so it seems but proves extremely difficult when there is none around. At this very moment, he heard a knock on his window. Just before his eyes could focus on who it was, a loud bang and shattering glass filled his vision. He suddenly finds it difficult to breathe. Could it be what ever happened in that split second took him by surprise? Or the fact that a bullet in his lung ruins how it’s supposed to function? Alex did nothing to fight it. "I should have guessed" he said. Alex had a story to tell. A story I could not afford a word of it to be uttered…
11.10pm (May 11, 2007)
