It was challenging to walk in shackles. My hands ache from the cuffs.
How would I manage if I fell?
They don’t care.
He was just a homeless bum sleeping on a sidewalk.
It doesn’t matter to anyone that someone is killing the sleeping homeless.
How would I know if the guy searching through my stuff was the killer?
Now, I walk in shackles because I defended my bare essentials.
Now, I’m a violently insane man on my way to the psych ward.
My view from the window is the iron gate with fancy scrollwork.
The metalsmith was an artist.
Genre: True Crime
Word Count: 100
To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers challenge
********** In the News: Recently, a man in New York City was shooting the homeless while they slept. He has been arrested. This story is based on those crimes.