By Grady Beavin Manus
He saw a pebble there on the shore. Round. Smooth. Featureless. Nondescript. The only notable thing was its solitude—its aloneness. He felt a strange remote kinship with the small stone. He knew it would be hot from the mid-July sun, unlike the cold metal of the gun he held. The pistol was surprisingly heavy—as if it held the weight of the world. Perhaps it did. In a breath or two the weight would be over. A sad half-smile crossed his lips as he looked at the pebble. Oddly comforted, he raised the gun and took a long deep breath.
Uncomfortable subject, but I really liked it.
I really liked this story. Very well written and atmospheric.