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Weekly Contest #66
“Dear Son: If you’re reading this, then your mother and I are dead.” Gibson’s father never beat around the bush. His father was a big man, with a big personality. Gibson always imagined he’d die in his sleep, a quiet end to a loud life. Instead, lightning struck him dead at Lake Maracaibo in Venezuela. Gibson's mother suffered the same fate. The week before that they sailed the Caribbean. Before that they hiked Colombian coffee fields. Gibson had not left his home in five years. He was 18. The letter continued… “Your...
The alarm pierced through the air, but Jesse Conley was already awake. A decade of regimented living will do that to a man, courtesy of the CIA’s demanding schedule. But Jesse walked away from that life three years ago, and he was wanted because of it. A “criminal” for deserting his country. At least, that’s how the media spun the story. Jesse knew better. The real criminals owned the media, and the media did what they were told. Jesse wasn’t perfect – far from it. The guilt reminded him of that much.But a criminal? No. Jesse was no criminal...
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