Marked by his sin
When he saw the overturned car, he froze.
His hands shook.
“No,” he muttered. “No, no…” he couldn't believe his eyes.
He staggered back, his eyes darting over the wreckage, the bodies, the impossible destruction. For a heartbeat, I was sure he would run.
He looked like he wanted to.
His chest rose and fell erratically. His hands clenched, trembling violently.
Then his gaze locked onto mine.
Alive.
Barely.
He rushed forward, slipping in the mud, dropping to his knees beside the shattered window. Rain plastered his hair to his forehead, streaking his face.
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