He slowly walked towards the service table, sat on the edge of the chair, grabbed a pencil, and waited. Then, he In his shaking hands, he wrote: Lord, baby Kevin is in your hands.
Then, he folded the note once and twice, into a small square, and inserted into the prayer box. He walked toward the entrance and sat by the window, with a view of the reflection garden.
He gazed at the garden from the distance and felt lost. Then, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths in and out. A woman’s face emerged. Her face was swollen and features distorted. She was holding her baby, kneeling down. Her gown was covered in blood. In a silent scream, she burst into thousands of human pieces. In a reflex, he reached out to catch her. His hands were covered in blood. He looked at them and panicked: Those hands were to save lives but today they failed him, failed this woman, and it was not even his fault — He had done everything he could….
He continued breathing, in and out, eyes shut. Slowly he could feel the wind brushing his face; tree leaves waving; garden fragrance flowing through his nostrils; fountain water cleansing him, head to toe. He felt calmer.
He patted his face as to wake himself up and looked at his hands again: They were clean and sturdy; they had been fighting lives of others for 20 years; they had saved many more than they had lost.
“Tomorrow.” He clenched his hands into fists, muttered those words, and left.
Writing 201: What Is Your Angle
Writing 201: Intros and Hooks