Bridge to Freedom

It was done. He’d never hurt her again.

The only problem was disposing of him-a gruesome but necessary task. One that would require several walks along the bridge.

She could’ve easily gotten help. The neighborhood remembered him well, hated him too. But, she told no one as it was her cross to bear, and needed no witnesses.

Funny how there was a code of honor among dealers, prostitutes and thieves, she thought.

There was a big difference between their crimes and his though. To them, he was an evil soul.

To her, he was dad…now, he’s just fish food.


For Friday Fictioneers.

Part 3 of an unfolding mini series.

Find Part 1 and Part 2 here.