I’ve been sitting here all day trying to write a letter I can stand to send.

The room smells like grease and cheap beer. The pizza’s cold, the crust folded under itself, but I keep taking bites anyway-habit more than hunger.

The first page is somewhere under the couch, the second in the trash. By now the floor looks like a snowdrift of bad apologies.

I start again. I’m sorry for what happened.

Too thin.

I wish I could take it back.

Too much.

I think about it every day.

That one’s true, but truth doesn’t sound like enough.

I drag the pen until the ink runs dry. There’s a fresh beer sweating beside the lamp, and I drink half of it without tasting it. My hand smells like metal and ink and something else I can’t name.

The TV’s still on mute, flashing headlines I’ve stopped reading. Sometimes I catch my reflection in the dark screen-eyes red, shirt stained-and I look exactly like the kind of man everyone already decided I was.

It’s past midnight when the words finally line up in a way that doesn’t make me sick to read. I sign my name quickly, before I can change my mind, and slide the page into the envelope.

The glue sticks on the first try. Final. No edits left.

Outside, the air’s damp and cold enough to sting. My slippers soak through as I cross the street to the blue mailbox under the corner light. The metal door groans when I pull it open, loud in the quiet.

I hold the envelope a second too long. My hand shakes. Then I let go.

The letter lands with a soft thud.

And just like that, it’s out of my hands.

I start to close the lid, then see the blue ink on the front, my own careful handwriting.

To the family of Officer Daniel Hayes.

Continue reading (Chapter-2) » The Verdict