The day started with a gust of wind strong enough to blow Vani's window wide open. The cool breeze was just another excuse for Vani to bundle back up deep in his quilt. Vani rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling, the ceiling that once covered a family, but now only covered a weak man. The rhythm of the clicking of the fan matched every beat of Vani's heart, every beat that told him again and again: it should've been him.
It was 05:17 by the time Vani snapped out of his morning daze. He rolled out of bed, slapped on the raggedy uniform he wore the day before, and grabbed his badge and gun off of his bedside, well more like couch side, table, ready to save a life to make up for the one he lost.
Today was different; Vani was ordered to report straight to the governor by 06:00. He was already late; he drove by Mr. Wright drinking his coffee and eating a chocolate donut. They exchanged their daily wave hello, and Vani stomped on his gas pedal down Maine St. towards the governor.
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