Author’s Note: Rich Man, Poor Man posted a couple weeks ago, and Poor Man, Rich Man below, were part of an exercise for a class I took three years ago to write the same story from two very different perspectives.
Ahmal swiped his phone and leaned back in the chair. Not that a folding metal chair permits much leaning. He realized for the first time this morning that he was sweating profusely and wiped his brow with a soiled handkerchief. Two exaggerated deep breaths did little to calm his nerves, so he stood up, straightened his tie, and checked the Glock 19 strapped to his chest. Ahmal had never fired a gun before visiting the range yesterday and knew he’d be nervous today, but he was surprised by just how much. Closing his eyes, he focused on his purpose and that released a familiar flow of anger which both calmed and steeled him.