Short Story Of Tom Fuller

Booker rolled over on the couch, the persistent ache in his right hip pulling him toward consciousness. As his eyes fluttered open, the low buzz of voices drew his gaze toward the small television perched on top of a wooden cabinet. Disoriented, he stared in confusion at the black and white movie playing on the screen. He had no memory of watching the Spaghetti Western, but as the thick veil of sleep slowly lifted, clarity returned, and the memory of the night’s events swamped his mind.

After finding his friend in the shower, he’d helped him dry before leading him into the bedroom. He’d found an old pair of sweats, and laying them on the bed, he’d instructed Tom to dress while he went in search of the vial of painkillers. But when he’d returned, …show more content…
The idea of entering the room of the most horrific scene he’d ever witnessed terrified him, but despite his reservations, he felt duty bound to check on Tom. But it wasn’t because Fuller had entrusted the young officer into his care. His sense of responsibility ran far deeper than any assignment. Because he genuinely cared for Tom, the intense pain and immeasurable grief radiating from the young officer was causing him an insurmountable amount of suffering. He physically hurt for his friend, and he wanted to comfort him. If he had it in his power, he would have gladly switched places and taken on all the pain and grief himself. But that was a pipe dream. Through no fault of his own, Will’s suicide was Tom’s cross to bear, and nothing he did would change that fact. Only time would lessen his friend's suffering, and even then, it wouldn’t end it completely. All Booker could hope was that Tom would seek professional help, and then maybe, just maybe, he could move forward with his life and once again, find …show more content…
Wide-eyed, Booker watched as he dipped a large scrubbing brush into the plastic pail and proceeded to scour Will’s blood and brain matter off the pale blue paintwork of the bedroom wall. There were no tears, no emotion, just a dogged determination to get the job done—as was apparent by the set of his jaw and the diligent and thorough way in which he carried out his task. But for Booker, it was another terrifying chapter in a book of horror stories. As he stared at his friend, he realized that for all his efforts, all Tom had managed to create was a ghoulish epitaph. Instead of erasing the shocking evidence of his brother's violent death, he’d commemorated it in a terrifying mural of blood and brains and the tears of those left behind. The scene was almost worse than Booker had imagined, and hot bile rose in the back of his throat. But he managed to force it down and stepping into the room, he announced his arrival.

Show More

The Glass Menagerie Symbolism

Essay about The Glass Menagerie

Globalisation: Farm and Photo Elicitation Essay

Essay on Mary Gilbert

Balance Igniting Potential Essay example

Moby Dick Essay

Ebooks Solution Manuals and Test Banks for Text Books Essay