‘What’s his story?’ Joyner asked.
The man was sitting on a veranda, a gun resting in his lap, his gaze a thousand yard stare.
‘He was meant to take a bullet for the President. Instead he leapt for cover. They buried another agent three days later.’
‘He looks like a powder keg waiting to go off; go on a spree or blow his own brains.’
‘He couldn’t take a bullet for the President; he can’t take one now. He’s alive but he can’t live with himself. Spends all day trying to solve that conundrum. I figure it’s a singular venture.’
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.