Adam
My body is a temple
But I don't believe in God
So knock it down and build me something new
But I don't believe in God
So knock it down and build me something new
"Er....kinda?" Adam tilted his headfrom side to side, trying to work out the best way to explain what had happened next, ideally with as little emotional fallout as possible; there was going to be some. It was inevitable, when the whole story had sent him into a years-long breakdown. "I got into his bedroom. And it's just him in there, sleeping."
He could see the room in his minds eye. A dark night, moonlight streaming in through three tall windows, one open. The shadow of spiked grates making a pattern on the floor, upon which laid a large rug. A fireplace to his left, a wardrobe, a desk containing papers that likely had the power to kill any one of his friends. And before him, just to the right...a large canopied bed with a sleeping figure.
When he'd walked up to the side of the bed, he'd looked so...old.
"So I got up to the bed and drew my gun." Adam lifted his fingers in the shape of a pistol and aimed it in front of himself and a little down, as if looking at someone laying in a bed beneath him. "And..and I..uh...I.." Oh no, here it was. A lump rose in Adam's throat and before he could stop it he had made a most uncool noise (somewhere between a sob and a squeak) and begun to cry. He roughly pushed the tears away. "Fuck. Sorry. I uh..I couldn't do it, Amalia. I couldn't shoot the fucker. He killed my dad and I couldn't do it."
