It was grey as always. He was walking through the building while repeating himself "Why? Why did i do that?"
He was only 17 at the time, but his future had vanished before his eyes. It wasn't uncommon to have shot a gun at his age, however at someone was another story. His head was plastered to any wall in town. The bars he used to love so dearly, the telephone poles. No where was safe anymore.
then suddenly noticed that he forgot his gun at the Hela. Hela the name of the bar that he loves to go all the time
In his nervousness, he bites his lips bloody. All the young man could remember was the eyes of the soldier right before he died. He tries to hide the rolling emotions of his countenance. But the demure young man could tell that those peeking at him from the sides of his vision recognized who he was.
He stopped for a moment as grief overtook him. Choking back a sob, he let his head fall into his hands as he continued on, his heavy footsteps echoing in the dimly lit corridor leaving a trail of blue liquid that meandered all the way to its source: a plain green door, slightly ajar.
His mutterings caught the attention of his fellow shoppers, who gave him a wide berth as he continued to shop, hands gripping his shopping cart as he wheeled erratically down the aisle.