Let Go and Let God
(I honestly wrote this when I was in a low depressive state. And getting this out actually helped out a lot.) The glow of the dim ring light and a laptop were the only illumination in the abandoned warehouse. Antonio Cerqueira stared at the screen listlessly, slouching back in a ratty leather armchair. His eyes were red and swollen from crying. He sniffled slightly and rubbed his nose slightly. "Fucking hell," he muttered. A small end table sat next to him on his right hand side with a half full glass, a bottle of liquor and a snub nose revolver. Leaning forward, he put his head in his hands and sighed heavily. Things couldn't have gone more wrong than it did the other day, but it did. Good God, did it ever. A simple extraction mission. That's all it was. At least that's what he was told. One stray bullet. One goddamned stray bullet made a job that could be done sleepwalking into an absolute nightmare. No matter how much he tried to push the image of his charg...