Home. Part 3.

Toby stared hard at the rough brick floor and tried his best to be composed
The years had taken their toll, not just on him, but the shack he'd built from scratch
It never had, that woman's touch
And it showed through the dirt on the floor
And sang through the stale stench of a single man's life

He peered through the one of many weathered cracks in the door
Nothin'...
He slid the steel barrel through the gap and eased it open
Still nothin'...
Toby felt his chest pound as he poised the 22 onto his shoulder, and closed one eye as he fixed the other firmly on the hammer
Sliding his leg around the frame, he felt clumsy, but couldn't retreat

"You gonna use that thing?"
The voice came from behind him, he was startled, but didn't turn
"Put that down"
Toby gritted his teeth, and did as he was told
There was no time to turn anyways'
He braced rigid, and waited for the blow that would be followed by the warm trickle...
He was all too familiar with that
Toby, was resigned to his fate...