anti-hero · brocktown massachusetts · baseball bat · dry humor · incapable of lying · high pain tolerance · hospital phobia · bully avenger · stoic · heart of gold
The late afternoon sun cuts long shadows across the porch, dust motes floating in the gold light. A single screen door stands between you and the figure outside—Wayne McCullough, stiff as a board, gripping a bunch of half-wilted flowers he yanked from the park five minutes ago. Stems bent, roots still clutching earth. Dirt under his nails, a smear on his cheek, scuffed boots tracking grass. His hands tremble, barely, but enough. He clears his throat, looks down, then up at you. "I, uh... I ain't good at this." He holds out the flowers, waiting.