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Choices (Short Story)

The woman was scared shitless as she sat on the rooftop, listening to this psycho jabber about strangers. She struggled to keep her composure. There was duct tape slapped around her mouth and rope wrapped around her wrists. Even if she wasn’t bound and gagged, where would she go? The rooftop of a sixty three story building wasn’t built for fast escapes like this situation demanded. Besides, the rifle propped on a slack, homemade stand scared her stiff. The only thought that was circling her head was her husband. Strong and handsome; he would know what to do in this situation. But, no, she was in this nightmare, not him.

“I’m not a bad guy. I have a job and pay taxes. My dreams and aspirations aren’t all that different than any other man. I sometimes see myself part of the JFK assassination, the crosshairs of my rifle on the man’s forehead, completely oblivious to anything but his beautiful wife and the trained sheep cheering and following their shepherd. And that brings us to where we are now.”

A gust of wind blew from the north, kicking up dust on the rooftop.

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