t w e n t y t w o

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The cold metal of the cuffs sent goosebumps up my bare arms. Sheriff Keller sat across from me his fingers interlocked atop the scuffed metal table.

"I swear to you Sheriff, I couldn't have killed him." My eyebrows knotted together as I leaned as close to him as I could my voice desperate and wrought with anxiety, "Please, I can't have shot him. I don't have a gun."

"Alright," he sighed, hanging his head, "that's enough, we had several people tell us you were talking about it in Pop's."

My body stiffened, as I leaned back against the cool metal of the chair. The entire room was cold and grey as if bleached by the somber nature of the discussions that took place inside.

"I didn't, Sheriff, please, this is just a misunderstanding." I attempted, tears blurring the image of his features painted with disappointment.

He didn't reply, instead, he stood up, the chair groaning as he stood, and walked toward the door. He pulled it open, a sliver of yellow light from the setting sun illuminating the room before it shut behind him, shrouding my broken frame in darkness.  

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