Courage

His name was Bob, and he had killed someone. This was all he could muster up the courage to remember right now. His weide eyes scanned the garage. Colors were less saturated than usual, except the thick violet-red droplets on the floor; Each tiny puddle could drown an ant. Rigid in stance, he moved at lightning speed, but to him it felt like slow motion. The hammer hit the ground with a clang, tarnished metal to concrete. He slip-ran to the large metal sink, washing the life off of his hands, he impatiently scrubbed and watched in swirl down the drain. With confusion he ran his clean wet fingers through his graying hair, and turned away from the sink. Dots connected in that moment as he noticed the blood was pooling out of a large plastic tool box on the opposite wall. Just then the door that seemed to connect the garage to the house swung open. A women with brown hair stucj her head inside. "Honey, have you seen Jonathan? His bicycle is in the yard, but I can't seem to find him."