Short Fiction Break

I’ve always heard death was supposed to be peaceful, ya know? Like a drifting off to sea or something. You remember those old war movies? Even those who had suffered the most violent offenses always passed in the arms of a platoon member. They would die uttering some phrase of epic proportion, and they were proclaimed a hero.  Well, that’s not how I’ll be remembered.

You want to know when I knew I’d be “a victim of a violent crime”? I don’t know! Or maybe I’ve always known. At least, my mom was always afraid it’d happen. I just thought she was just paranoid…or weird. It’s funny; as a kid, I remember my mom telling me, “Live by the sword, die by the sword, Gamil.” She’d say that when I’d cornered my brother to tears after a game of a cops and robbers or cowboys and indians or whatever. He…

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