He couldn’t get the screams out of his head. Over and over again they played; and when he closed his eyes they just got louder.
He knew that he should have turned away.
But he hadn’t, and it was a decision that he’d live with for the rest of his life.
Sweat beaded his brow, trickling down the side of his three day stubbled face. Impatiently he rubbed it away and ran on. His feet pounding the pavement, reprehensive beats now where before the sound had cheered him on.
He choose a different route. A shorter one, one that suited his temper these last three days.
Guilt was causing him to snap, strain etched on his face and kept his eyes focused on the bumpy plasterwork of his bedroom ceiling, long after his beautiful wife had fallen into easy slumber.
He envied her peace, her innocence.
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