Barbara Taylor supplied the prompt photo this week.
The bench was hard and cold on that crisp March morning, and the snow was still surprisingly white after three days on the ground.
“Should I finally go?”, Erik asked himself for the thousandth time.
“Yes,” he answered, as he started to stand on the thin layer of packed snow.
“Nooo!”, he groaned out loud as his stomach turned over and knotted in pain.
Collapsing back onto the bench, he cradled his head in his hands, waiting for the pain to recede. He keeled over on his side and drew his feet up onto the bench in a fetal position. He just could not face the Freedom Tower from close up. It still hurt too much.
“Run,” he screamed, seeing the clouds of dust and debris overtaking him once more.