"He told me one last story. He used his aged, ruined voice like an old man's hands to pick the lock on his past..."
I watched as his hands moved around in strange motions, pulling a trigger, throwing a grenade. He was reliving his history without saying a word, but I understood him more than anyone else could. Thinking back, I remembered the day that I met this strange man. It was the day that I died.
Well I didn't quite die. Not entirely.
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One Last Story
Short Story"He told me one last story. He used his aged, ruined voice like an old man's hands to pick the lock on his past..." This was the stimulus/opening for a short story I wrote for English. Hope you enjoy. [[[Completed]]]
