A Call for Reconciliation

Vernon sat in the floor of the hotel room, his back to the wall and his wounded leg stuck out in front of him. The bright white beam of the SWAT team’s spotlight turned night into day. Liquor bottles, cigarette butts, wads of stolen cash, shell casings, and empty baggies for long gone dope littered the room.

“Vernon? Honey, do you hear me?” Her voice said over amplified speakers. “It’s Susan, Vern. Talk to me, baby.”

Susan, the cause of and solution to all of Vernon’s problems. He reflected on where he was, where he had been, and what he had wanted as he tied a Confederate bandanna around his bicep to staunch the gushing blood.

“Susan?” Vernon yelled out the shattered window. “What are you doing here, sweetie?” His mind raced with the possibility of taking her into his arms and being with her one last time, even if it meant life in prison.

“Vernon, you have to stop this nonsense. You can’t be getting yourself killed.” His heart jumped. “Not when you still owe me child support money, you deadbeat dog.”

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