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Fickle

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Gene swallowed the last of the whisky, He tightened his hand around the glass and then he threw it, watching it shatter into tiny pieces; just like his heart shattered when he heard the news of Sam’s death.

He ignored Ray and Chris. He didn’t care what they or anybody else thought. Not today. He’d held up through the funeral service which was attended only by Sam’s colleagues. Even after seven years Sam was still a loner.

Fate was fickle. To give him Sam, only to then take him away. He brushed his hand across his eyes. He was so very tired.