“Who is it?” Sean asked from inside the room.
I rolled my eyes, “Who do you think?” Immediately, the door opened, he pulled me into the room and slammed the door. “What is it?” I asked, following him to the window.
“Shh,” I crossed my arms as he pressed the binoculars against his eyes. “We’re being followed.” He stated a moment later and handed me the binoculars. I stared at him with an eyebrow raised. “You don’t believe me.”
“Why should I?” Sean’s just being paranoid, I thought. He often told me he received a sixth sense during the five year he’s been imprisoned. I don’t believe in such thing as a sixth sense but a moment later, I sighed, “Fine, let’s just say someone’s following us. Why?”
“Because I’ve been to prison. I’m officially on the ‘watchlist’.” He whispered.
I pulled him from the window and cupped his face between my hands. “Look, we have nothing to hide. If they want to follow us, then let them. Trust me, when they find nothing usable, they’ll leave.” Then everything happened so fast. Our lips touched one moment and the next, the window’s shattered and Sean’s dying in my arms.
A Response for Sunday Photo Fiction.