BY: Marc McMahon
There is a little boy inside of me. He looks just like I did when I was his age. He wears 1970’s red nylon shorts with a white stripe down the sides. His shirt is white, short sleeved, with blue borders at the ends of each sleeve and baby blue printing across the boy’s chest. He wears a yellow Seattle Mariners baseball team, terry clothed wristband, circa 1970’s and his hair is light brown cut in a shag.
There is a room with grey walls and only one light in the center, a bright light, dangling from three wires protruding out of the side of a broken light fixture. A red wire, a white wire, and a green. All leading to one large, bright, Vietnam era interrogation light, hanging low so that the illumination of the light only lights the center of the room leaving the corners…
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