As he lay there, head throbbing and eyes blinded by the sun, all he could do was think about the could-a, would-a, should-a’s.
He could have done it differently. He could have done it all differently, he conceded. He could have been better. He could have chosen so many other paths.
He shivered as he felt a warmth trickle down his neck.
Would it have made much difference though?
Perhaps.
Maybe not to him, but to those around him, sure.
One thing was for certain.
When she’d asked him the final question, he should have said, “Yes”.
Written for Friday Fictioneers – hosted by the ever-present Rochelle, and with photo prompts contributed by the writing community. See this week’s other writers here.
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