He stood along the narrow ledge, eight stories up.
A bad man. Who deserved all this trouble.
But put one right in his back? No, I couldn’t. I wanted him to own it. Take responsibility. Take just one more step and make my life easy for once. Please.
The man turned around to face me instead, his curly blonde hair and silk paisley tie flapping in the cold hard wind.
“I know you,” he said, a wide confident smile on an otherwise ordinary face. “You don’t have it in you.”
He was gone an instant later.
Oh, but I did.
The Weekday One Hundred 