The asphalt was cold, wet, slicked as if laced with oil to add trickery to the nights unfolding treacheries. The car propelled onward, followed only by the rhythmic bump of it’s left tires running over street reflectors.

Hand gripped firmly on the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road, he continued to drive. His focus kept him away from his guilt, if his concentration faltered for even a second, he’d drive himself into a tree.

His entire life, he’d looked up to his brother, admired him. Every moment of his existence was dedicated to becoming more like him, but now he was gone.

His fingers fumbled across his phones slick surface, He dialed, multiple rings and then voicemail. No matter how many times he called James, his brother wouldn’t answer. “If I wanted to talk, maybe I shouldn’t of killed him.” He thought as he tossed the phone over his shoulder.