Early March, 1986

"I'll have... that one, please" Monica pointed to a random selection on the cocktail menu, sitting alone at the bar as she ordered yet another drink.

The bartender leaned over to read the menu closely, "A Harvey Wallbanger?"

"Uh, that, yep" she hiccuped awkwardly.

As the bartender turned away and began preparing it, she turned back around and looked at her partner Freddie Mercury sitting alone on the white wooden bench across the space as he waited for her, looking broodingly handsome in his powder blue dinner jacket with his raven black hair combed back and trimmed moustache as he scanned the swarming crowd of A-Listers and event crew that she didn't even know.

She had to sit at the bar, for she couldn't stand to sit alone with him anymore; the silence between them the both was getting louder every day. Going out with him to things that they were invited too just wasn't as enjoyable as it was in the late 1970s.

Tonight, Freddie had dragged her to a private function for God Knows Whatever For that was taking place inside a large pavilion of a house belonged to God Knows Who in South Kensington. It was a party hosted by David Clark, whom Freddie had briefly befriended and was preparing for his new concept album based on his musical named Time that was opening at the Dominion theatre in the next months. He wanted Freddie to cover one of the new numbers on it for promotion, that had a title of the same name.

To be honest, the party wasn't too bad an end to a Saturday that Monica had well spent finalising her University applications for September, even if it meant her having to persuade Phoebe to babysit Johnny and Roshni at such short notice. The deadline for submissions was nearer and Monica was narrowing down her top choices, and while the thought of telling Freddie was always on the back of her mind the pressure from it was not growing significantly larger.

"September is a long way away anyway," she had been telling herself repeatedly, "Who knows where I will be or what I will be doing?"

She looked on at him as she waited, him not noticing of course, wondering if they were also going to have a silent taxi ride home when suddenly one of the famous party guests that she had watched most of the evening, a woman that she had yet to be acquainted with, went to take her waiting empty spot next to him on the bench.

"Oh?" it caught her attention.

She recognised her as the actress who played the bar-woman that she'd forgotten the name of in the Queen Vic off of Eastenders, for she knew that television show was one of Freddie's guilty pleasures. Monica didn't find her features considerably striking, but remarked that she had a nice face and warm smile that seemed to match her upbeat personality as she wafted from one group of party-goers to another. 

Freddie immediately perked up and smiled whenever he saw her, as if she was an old friend.

"That's peculiar, have they met before?" she thought curiously.

She couldn't help noticing how picture perfect they both looked as well; the fun and loudness of the Hawaiian shirt that Freddie wore under his dinner jacket matched that of the mystery woman who, like most women did nowadays, was wearing lots of hairspray in her permed auburn hair and blue eyeliner wrapped around her eyes, and donned a dress with puffed sleeves and shoulder padding.

But that playful, vibrant look that was on-trend wasn't Monica's style. Monica's style was toned-down and classy, as she was currently. She had her dark brown waves brushed and demurely slicked back with a bit of gel and hairspray, like she had seen the models wear in Vogue. And she decided to wear her silk ivory blouse with her black cigarette trousers and a simple pair of green beaded tassel earrings, a leaf that she had taken out of Giorgio Armani's book.

"Pity that Freddie didn't react or take much notice tonight" she thought sadly at that moment as she looked down at her outfit, for she made an effort especially for him.

Beep, beep...beep, beep...

But before Monica could intervene and introduce herself, the large Motorola in her brown crocodile skin bag under her arm started to ring.

"Excuse me, I need to take this," She flimsily told the barman who was almost finished preparing her drink, climbing off of the stool before mumbling to herself, "Who's ringing me at this time of night?"

What if it was Phoebe back in Garden Lodge, and something had gone wrong while he was minding the twins? Or what if it was her parents back home in Northern Ireland, once again boasting about their new house on the Causeway coast and begging her for a visit?

She briefly locked eyes with Freddie as she staggered out the glass doors, who looked back at her in puzzlement despite the mystery woman chattering into his ear.

"Huh-Huhllo?" Monica answered it the moment she was outside in the garden, which was more quiet apart from the partygoers who smoked outside.

"That's it, Monica," a male voice with an American accent said, "Almost everybody else but you and Steve has jumped ship."

"Wait, whaa-who is this?" she garbled, facing the pavilion wall and putting her hand over her ear.

"It's Theo-wait, Monica, are you drunk?"

"Oh, no," She lied, suddenly at attention, "What's this about?"

"It's the company. You told me that if there was any bad news you wanted it delivered with blunt force," Theo stated, "And, well, this is bad news."

Alas, it was an update that she had been expecting for weeks now. Monica's now ex boss Mr Cohen's production company was done-for, and there were not enough staff or funds to run it anymore, hence it was also part of the reason why she put in backup plans for university.

But thanks to being under the influence of alcohol, Monica's tongue was way ahead of her mind; she had been meaning to ask Theo if he would be willing to carry out a favour within the last few days of completing her university applications, and now she had the perfect opportunity in front of her.

"Fair enough," she admitted, making sure to speak clearly as best as she could despite the state that she was in, "I suppose it's just as well because I have a favour to ask of you"

In perfect American fashion, Theo said, "Uh-Alright, shoot"

Monica took a deep breath, continuing to mask her tipsiness,"...I am thinking of going to university in September"

"Where? Doing what?" He chirped up in excitement.

"Doing film or media of some kind, don't quite know yet to be honest" she mumbled on, shuffling her feet on the paving stones.

"Study film? Uhh... Monica, film schools only existed in the Soviet Union when I was your age," he explained doubtfully, "Are you sure about this? Do you know what you're getting yourself into?"

"I've attended practically every public library in South Kensington to look at courses in the city," she reassured him, and mostly herself, "Anyway, I've made a list of my top five choices  and-and filling out UCAS appli-application forms right now," she tripped up on her words, "And they all say that I need a reference letter type thing... I was meaning to ask you if you could please write it for me?"

She waited for him to respond, listening closely.

"I hope you know what you're doing." he responded with all seriousness.

"I know how what goes on behind the camera, and it's all thanks to you giving me a chance Theo," she explained, "Now I just need to fully understand the art itself"

"Shouldn't be that hard anyway, should it? I mean, Freddie loves black and white Hollywood movies," she thought, "That's a new way to spend time with him again, I suppose"

"Well I, uh, I like your enthusiasm," Theo commented, despite his concern, "but what are you going to do with a film degree afterwards anyway?"

Monica answered, "Maybe I can figure out what direction in the industry that I want to take along the way. Now, will you do it for me or not?!"

There was a silent hesitance on the other end. 

"I am sorry for being rude," Monica quickly apologised out of panic, and admitted honestly, "It's just that I will have to look for somebody else and I can't think of anyone but you"

"And why is that?"

"Because apart from becoming a mother getting a job with you was the only other thing that I ever achieved in life," she spilled, "I just want to be better because clearly I'm not good enough for some people..."

Theo wanted to question more, but at the same time he'd felt pity. After all, he'd let her take a week off of work after the miscarriage and knew that it gave her a hard time .

"...Tell you what," He finally answered, "I'll throw something together right now, okay?"

"Oh, thank you!" she did a little jig at the spot where she was standing, which garnered a few stares from other party-goers nearby.

"Seriously Monica, you owe me big time," he joked, and she could hear his footsteps going upstairs in the background, "I was looking forward to having Saturday night off, so you better get in!

"Oh, I will try! I haven't told another soul about this until now, Theo." She gushed excitedly, "Thank you again!" 

"Hang on a moment, not even Freddie?!"

"Nope-I mean, I will tell him... eventually" Monica rambled on with a little eye roll.

"Don't wait until it's too late," he advised her with seriousness in his tone, "Now, check your fax sometime tomorrow morning, I'll send several copies through"

She straightened up against the wall, "Alright... What's next for you then?"

"I'm filing the company for bankruptcy on Monday, and in a month's time my wife and I will be moving back to the states and maybe end working for MTV, who knows?" He said half-sarcastically, "Meanwhile, you guys face the great unknown, aka redundancy"

"Sounds like you have it all figured out with her," She spun on her heels, ready to head back inside when she remembered, "Oh! Do you want the Motorola back before you go?"

"You know what? Keep it as a parting gift, it could come in handy," Theo answered, then mused, "Maybe one day in the future we will all be using mobile phones"

Monica smiled to herself giddily, "I'm going to miss you as my boss"

"I'm going to miss you as well," he replied, "I must arrange a final gathering for all the dearly departed before I bid England a farewell"

Monica discreetly spoke into the mic, "I hope it's better than this one-Oh! One more thing, Theo..."

He sighed on the other end, but she could hear him smiling to himself, "Yes?"

"I lied to you, I actually am drunk!" Monica jollily declared, firmly pressing the red button without saying goodbye and giggling as she stuffed her phone back into her bag. 

She strutted back inside (or so she thought she was strutting) in the confidence that her future was taken care of, only to meet a slightly miffed-off bartender standing where she sat, a newly prepared orange cocktail at her stool.

"Eight pounds, please ma'am" he held his hand open.

Slightly distracted, Monica grabbed a bank note from her bag and gave it to him, "Don't worry about the change, keep it as a tip for waiting."

She turned around to head back to reclaim her spot beside Freddie and introduce herself to the mystery woman, but wasn't prepared to run into somebody else...

"Oh, I am sorry!" She apologised profusely through her tipsiness, for the newly prepared cocktail in her hand spilled all over the stranger's striped polo shirt, "I did't see where I was going!"

When she looked up she saw that the man was not a stranger, but rather her favourite crooner from her childhood in the 1960s. 

"Oh my god, you're Cliff Richard!" she thought aloud, awestruck.

Cliff picked up the tiny decorative umbrella that had garnished her cocktail off of the stone floor at his feet as he reassured her, "Oh, it's fine, really! Let me get another, what was it that you ordered?"

She certainly wasn't going to say no to that.

"Can't remember to be honest!" she laughed and threw her hands by her side as she let him walk her back to the bar like the gentleman he was, "I don't care as long as it's alcohol!"

Cliff looked at her in puzzlement, then placed the tiny umbrella back into the empty glass in her hand before he turned around, "A bottle of Prosecco, please" 

The same bartender, who looked tired of seeing Monica yet again, sighed and paused cleaning the wine glass in his hand, "Right away, sir"

"Oh goodness, I've been waiting 20 years for this moment," she propped her head on her elbow in her tipsy state, gazing at him. All the while Mr Richard smiled back at her charmingly as she thought to herself, "I never thought I would meet him like this. Life is funny..."

But he didn't look the same way as she always remembered or hoped him to be. His dark haired quiff that a teenage Freddie had once emulated in the 1960s was now a mullet and his Peter Pan-esque face was now aged, for his dreamy brown eyes behind a pair of large clear glasses now had crows feet.

She looked back over her shoulder at Freddie and the mystery woman on the sofa, but this time they were both engrossed in conversation one second, and exploding into fits of laughter the next.

"What did you say that your name was?" she felt Cliff touch her arm out of the blue to catch her attention, handing her the glass flute.

"Oh, I'm Monica," she took it from him, forcing a smile, "No need to introduce yourself"

"Nice to meet you," He shook her hand as he spoke loudly over the loud chatter something along the lines of, "So... what brings you here? You a friend of Dave's, or are you in the music business?"

"Sort of-actually, I'm Freddie Mercury's... uhmmm..." she limply held up her left hand to show him the diamond that had been on her ring finger for the last several years.

"Who would've thought it?" Cliff looked her up and down, and slipped a cheeky wink, "Mr Mercury won't mind me buying Mrs Mercury a drink, will he?"

Monica would've corrected him if she wasn't so flattered. Instead she she wore a simpering smile and blushed, knowing too well that her twelve year old self would have loved to have been rubbing shoulders with Cliff Richard and be offered a drink by him. But to receive such a flirtatious compliment from her childhood crush, even if it was just a joke, would've made her die right then and there.

"Still have the caravan bus, do you?" She bumbled in an attempt to be casual before downing a big gulp of the sparkling, bubbly golden glory from the glass.

"The what, sorry?"

"The double decker caravan bus... the one that you drove to Greece in Summer Holiday" she elaborated.

A rather grand male voice behind her said, "A caravan bus? I've heard it all..."

An elderly man was sitting right next to Monica and having a small glass of whiskey at the bar, but she had her back to him nearly the whole time she talked to Cliff. He donned a smart black suit and bow tie, and had distinct puffy red cheeks, sharp blue eyes and a white beard that made him look rather like Father Christmas.

But in her drunken state Monica failed to recognise him as none other than British acting royalty Sir Laurence Olivier.

She took a step back so that Cliff could also communicate, "Wait, you're working with Dave on his album too?!"

Sir Laurence dismissed her unladylike rudeness, and answered, "As a narrator, yes... then maybe, if there'll be a stage musical, I'll be a projection. T'is a wonder what you can do with technology nowadays," he looked around, "By god, I can't stand these things anymore..."

"Me neither," Monica chirped, holding up her almost empty glass of sparkling Prosecco, "What do you think gets me through the night?"

Cliff, who happened to be a devout Christian, smiled and shook his head to himself as he concealed his disapproval.

Just then Queen's bassist John Deacon, and his famous newly permed mousy brown hair, appeared on his way back from the gentlemen's toilet.

"Deaky!" Monica gleefully flailed the drink in her hand about and opened her arms to hug him, "I didn't know that you were invited!"

John paused, looked at her in surprise, and hugged her back lightly, "Monica, how are you?"

"I'm good, I'm good!" she answered, for the way that John's grey eyes crinkled up when he smiled and flashed the gap in his teeth was so infectious.

He saw the pile of drinking glasses over her shoulder, as well as the dazed look in her blue eyes, also remembering the miscarriage that she had over one month before.

He remarked the two famous men standing silently either side of her, "Made a couple of new friends as well, I see!" 

"Yeah, well, they're better company than he is!" she slurred half-jokingly, nodding towards Freddie's direction.

Just then Deaky pulled away from her, his face falling slightly, "Well, it was lovely to bump into you"

He gave the three of them an awkward nod and a smile, and headed back into the crowd where Freddie was. 

"John!" He sat up slightly when he saw him, almost in surprise, "Take a seat! I trust that you've already met Anita" 

"Uh, I am okay. Freddie..." Deaky assured him, then reached over to kiss Anita on the cheek as she stood up for him and brushed the skirt of her dress straight.

"I'll just be leaving..." she pointed to someone in the crowd that she knew.

"It was good to see you again, darling" Freddie grabbed her arm and tugged her back towards him. 

John looked behind him, and saw Monica across the room take a long sip of Prosecco as she almost glared at Freddie exchanging kisses on the cheek with Ms Dobson on the cheek before they parted ways, Sir Laurence and Cliff Richard standing either side of her.

He waited until Anita was out of sight before he cautiously told Freddie, "I think you should take Monica home soon, she's not usually this drunk"

"That doesn't surprise me" Freddie shrugged it off, patting the empty space next to him.

"What about this, then?" John stepped back, and pointed to where she was standing.

When he saw the two men that Monica was blabbering away to, and the intoxicated smile on her face and dazed look in her blue eyes, he felt a pang of fear of what could possibly happen next.

"She'll make a bloody fool out of herself in front of those two!" he shot up off the bench, panicked.

"I'll get her in a taxi back to Garden Lodge safely, don't worry" John stopped him, fearing that he would be about to cause an even bigger scene.

Freddie stared on anxiously, "But she hasn't met Dave (Clark) yet..."

"It's probably better if she meets him sober, don't you think?" John advised him.

Meanwhile, at the bar Cliff Richard lifted his glass of Prosecco from the counter, "What did you say your name was again?"

"Monicaaa" she articulated every synonym in her name, almost as if he was too stupid to understand.

"Ah yes, it was nice meeting you, Monica," he shook her hand once more and took a few steps back towards the crowd, "I should hope to God that our paths cross again one day"

And just like that, her idol disappeared back into the crowd. 

She looked back at Sir Laurence, whom she still saw as a stranger, and said, "I suppose I better be off as well-"

"Come closer first, my dear," Sir Laurence signalled her towards him with two fingers, "I want to speak to you"

Curious yet confused, Monica obliged and bent down to lean closer.

He spoke into her ear, "I saw you come in with that man on the bench over there. And I can see the distance between the two of you"

"You can?" she asked, knowing that if it weren't for the alcohol in her system she would be taking his words more seriously.

Mr Olivier nodded, "And as an actor I can also tell that you are trying to pretend that you are content, and that you are numbing everything out because you are lost"

She pulled away, "Lost?"

And that was the first time when somebody else acknowledged the pain she felt and the difficulty that she was going through and put it into words, besides herself. 

Oh, how she wanted to tell this seemingly wise stranger everything. About how she lost her baby, her job, and how she was worried that the love of her life was slipping away from her...

Instead she chose to listen. 

He continued calmly, "You remind me a lot of my second wife, you know. Vivien... we were madly in love with one another, but she was also a very, very broken woman and even I couldn't save her."

Monica silently nodded, and let Sir Laurence warmly take her hand as he got more candid and honest.

"A few years after our divorce Vivien was dead, and she still had many years ahead of her as well," Laurence looked at his lap in obvious regret  "Sometimes I blame myself for how she deteriorated, and the stress that I inflicted upon her"

"Damn, this is deep" Monica thought.

Although she was drunk she knew better than to interrupt this man looking in at her from the outside and opening up to her.

"Don't let that man destroy you," he advised firmly, and remarked the empty glasses on the bar counter beside her, "Otherwise you will destroy yourself"

Sir Laurence gave her a nod before he wheeled himself away from the bar without bidding her a farewell, and towards a woman with greying curls and young man at one of the seating areas, his wife and son.

"Okay... thanks, old man..." Monica muttered as she snatched her flute off of the counter.

Finally, she found that the mystery woman had left and only Deaky had taken her seat on the bench. 

"Ah well, there's always Freddie's lap" she smiled to herself as she confidently strode back to him.

But she lost her footing and flew forward, tumbling onto her knees.

"Easy!" John lunged forward to catch her before she could twist her ankle on her high-heeled shoe.

But Freddie was mortified, and could feel the stares of everyone else in the room directed towards him.

"You okay there?" Deaky helped her back onto her feet.

"No, actually, my boss called me five or ten minutes ago and I just got made redundant but it's fine!" she told him cheerfully as if it was nothing, throwing her glass flute about.

John's face fell slightly, whilst Freddie snatched the glass out of Monica's hand, "That's it, we're going home"

The woman protested as he gripped his arm around her shoulders tightly, pointing towards the bar, "But I need to finish that bottle of Prosecco!"

"We have more at home, dearie" he lied, forcing himself to be kind.

"Ooh, yes... we can turn on the jacuzzi, eh?" she slurred, before looking behind her and waving, "Bye, Deaky! Good seeing you again!"

John waved back and watched as she drunkenly cackled and allowed Freddie to walk her out the door, thinking to himself with pity, "Oh, Monica... even I don't recognise you anymore"

*****

Monica used to think that grief was just tears of sadness and a deep fear of absence, but it was more complicated than that. 

If anything, the grief of the miscarriage taught her that it also could leave plenty of pieces that felt almost impossible to pick up, even if it was the loss of a soul that she would never get to meet and hold in her arms.

Now, for example, there was both a physical and metaphorical distance between herself and Freddie as they sat in the back seat of a London black cab on the way home. Needless to say, it was painful for both involved.

"She looked so breathtakingly beautiful tonight, more beautiful and well put-together than ever... and her behaviour was such a let-down" he thought with disappointment.

He couldn't remember the last time that Monica had gotten so badly drunk, except at a party at his old manager John Reid's house in 1978 when she took every alcoholic beverage in sight and ended up throwing up in his garden. But that was back then, and this was now. She wasn't any wiser back then, so why now?

Freddie knew the answer, for he felt the same way as she did; they couldn't bear each others' company anymore, nor cope with the tension between them.

Now that she was sobering up a small bit but not completely, Monica couldn't stop thinking over her hazy recollection of what happened in the past hour, and it wasn't because she'd met Cliff Richard. 

She got over the thrill of meeting her childhood hero very quickly. Her mind was now overshadowed with the way that that woman interacted with Freddie at the party. It must've been the alcohol, but initially Monica didn't see anything suspicious until she looked back at how over-friendly that they were with one another. 

"I forgot when I last made him laugh the way she did... not that I was ever even funny, of course"

Ever since this miscarriage she had seen Freddie smile a few times, but to see him happy for the first time shouldn't have hurt as much as it did at that moment.

Then again it was somebody else, another woman other than herself, that was making him smile that way instead of her which was both painful and worrying to see. 

"He couldn't possibly... could he?" she thought with sudden panic and realisation.

Cheating would certainly explain why he was spending such a long time "at the studio" every day and not coming home until Johnny and Roshni were in bed. Another part of her thought that if she found out who that woman was now and what her business was, the lesser of the fool she would be. 

"But what if he gets angry?" she doubted, glancing over and seeing him stare sternly into the front seat, "Still, he looks like he was carved out by Greek Gods from this angle... Ugh! Why do I love him so much?!"

Suddenly, Freddie slid the divider between the back seat and the driver's front shut, and turned to her. 

He asked Monica gently, mustering the most tender and earnest tone that he could, "Oh darling, why didn't you just come and tell me right away?"

She lifted her head from the arm that she was leaning on, and glanced back over to him, "Tell you what?"

But Freddie lost patience, and snapped, "That you lost your damn job!"

"Like you would care," she thought scornfully, but calmly answered as she stared at the city lights out the window, "I suppose I was just trying to be funny and make light of the situation"

"And what about what you did at the bar? Did you think that was funny too?!" 

Monica played dumb again,"What do you mean?"

"Embarrassing yourself like that in front of Cliff and Laurence Olivier... Sir Laurence, may I add!"

"The one that looked like Santa Clause in a wheelchair?" she cut across him.

"Yes, Monica!" he refused to laugh.

"That old man was Laurence Olivier..." she put her hand to her mouth as the realisation sank in, but the alcohol numbed out any humiliation that she should've felt.

"Yes, that's right... I knew that you'd be ashamed of yourself" Freddie muttered bitterly.

But despite it, she brushed it off and numbly replied, "I didn't think that you'd care about being too embarrassed to be seen with me. Besides, you looked like you were having too much of a good time with that Eastenders girl to even notice me all night"

"Her name is Anita, Anita Dobson... and she is nice company, that's all!" His voice hardened dangerously.

"So that's her name?" 

Freddie ignored her and continued to tear into her, "Meanwhile you were completely off of your damn head, probably talking nothing but utter bollocks to your-your goddamn handsome prince!"

Monica held her tongue as she stared at her lap silently. 

At that moment she wanted nothing more than to point out Freddie's hypocrisy for being annoyed and jealous of whomever she talked to and whose company she enjoyed, especially after seeing him with Anita made her feel the same way. But the last thing that she wanted was to have a screaming match with him in a London taxi.

Feeling remorseful and wanting to make the silence more bearable, Freddie involuntarily reached over to take Monica's hand.

But when she felt it crawling closer in the corner of her eye and snatched it away quickly before folded her hands together, looking out the taxi window so that he couldn't see the tears welling up in her eyes.

The rejection of his advances hurt him, but he knew that he deserved it.

As Monica looked out the window she concentrated a little harder on what flew by, and noticed that they were driving down the same lane as Johnny and Roshni's primary school when she saw the street sign drilled on one of the buildings. 

"This isn't too far from Garden Lodge..." she pondered as an escape plan formed in her head.

After all, all hell could break loose if she cried in front of Freddie.

She instinctively rapped hard on the clear divider between her and the driver, wanting to get out of the car before her body could start to visibly tremble.

"Monica, darling wh-what on earth are you doing?" Freddie stammered in confusion as the taxi pulled into the kerb on the side of the lamplit street, "Are you-are you going to throw up?!"

She swung the door open and forcefully took off her seatbelt, quivering slightly, "I'm walking home!"

"Don't be daft!" he scoffed.

But Monica was out the door.

Freddie understood how she felt, for he knew that she didn't want to be in the same space as him. But he couldn't let her go alone when it was below ten degrees outside.

He asked the driver to hold the cab, and scrambled out after her, "Monica... MONICA!!""

She tried to speed up the pavement and get away as he sprinted after her, her heart beating rapidly as her breath hitched through her concealed sobbing. 

Unfortunately for Monica Freddie was too quick, grabbing her and practically dragging her back to the taxi as she limply struggled in both terror and confusion, "Let me go... Freddie, just let me go!!"

He wilfully ignored her as he stated, "I'll call Phoebe to come and get me, you're not going out alone!"

"Ouch! You're hurting me!" Monica exclaimed as the side of her head banged against the top of the doorframe when he roughly and emotionlessly shoved her half-limp body into the backseat.

But Freddie didn't notice. He slammed the door shut before he firmly ordered the puzzled taxi driver, "Get her home safe"

Monica thumped behind the glass with her fists as the black car moved off the kerb, but Freddie refused to look at her tear-stained face whilst his ears blocked out her muffled protesting.

He watched the taxi drive down the street until it was just a dot within the shadows in the distance, clenching his fists and feeling nothing but an overwhelming sense of guilt and anger.

To Be Continued...