Guilt
written by: Arlene J Placer
Ron laid back against the wall, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible as he watched the horror displayed in front of him.
Josh, his best friend, sat on the ottoman, his head down, as the tears ran and twisted his fingers between his knees.
Sitting on the white wicker chair was Bev. She also had tears that she constantly wiped from her face. She sat straight, not leaning back into the big blue pillow, and her hands encircled the arms of the chair, her knuckles white and her anxiety out in the open.
And between them both stood Will. Or rather walked. Paced would be the better word.
Ron had been watching this scene for at least half an hour, not able to take his eyes off any of them. Why he didn’t just shimmy toward the door and silently leave, he had no idea.
He was captivated by it all. Almost as if watching a play on a stage.
The most active of them was Will. He paced back and forth. Three steps to the left —turn — five steps to the right — turn— two steps to the left and it continued.
His words accented his steps —or maybe the other way around.
But Ron knew what those words were saying.
Josh had been screwing Bev, and Bev was Will’s wife.
All this time, Ron knew about it but said nothing.
Maybe that’s why he stayed. Maybe he felt the guilt.
But it wasn’t guilt over what they had done.
It was guilt that he hadn’t gotten there first.
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