One man’s cry was nothing against that. But in Jim’s head, it was deafening. Like the roar of a tidal wave, it rose up within him, smothering the fire of his hatred, crashing against the brittle wall he’d built to shield himself from feeling, from hurting. Before the terrified scream fell silent, Jim’s voice had joined it, one word, one hopeless, pathetic word. “No!” It burst from him as he hurtled toward the edge of the balcony, way too late to do anything but watch as Bomani’s dark body plummeted over a hundred stories through the blinding light. Jim’s fingers wrapped over the railing; he was falling with Bomani, breathing with him as he took his last breath, shattering as Bomani hit. Even though he could barely see it, he felt it, tearing him apart and scattering the pieces, painting the sidewalk with his blood. “No,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
What do You think about Stories From The Shadowlands?
