Morgan Karga, Everywhere and Nowhere – Part 3

An empty shell clanks out the chamber of my gun and concrete chips at the edge of the wall not even five inches from the side of my head.

“George!” Straining my voice, “The fuck is going on?!”

Another shot, and another. Shadowy figures drop from the outside and the pouring rain, drowned out by the popping and crackling. The empty clip slides from the bottom of the pistol where my finger lets it drop and I jam the only other one I got into its chamber with the palm of my hand. A bullet pushes past the fluttering of my hair in the frantic air and I slide down to the ground onto my hip.

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Morgan Karga, Everywhere and Nowhere – Part 2

“Belligerent underpaid tactical team.” The absolute deadpan disbelief behind the words I speak, “You mean someone here came up with an acronym…for butt?”

George looks at me like I totally must be yanking his chain and doesn’t appear to believe any of this. The how and why I don’t remember, things that must seem simple to him. “Not someone, you.” He says.

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Morgan Karga, Everywhere and Nowhere – Part 1

The scenery is smudged water-color. A red, orange and gray that bounces off the tops of the towers that touch the sky almost as far as you can see. Debris continuously falls from broken windows all-around. Desks, paper, office equipment—Daily Manhattan life spilling into the streets of the dead. One hundred guns flash in the distance and the growling overcomes the screaming and the pulsing beat of mortar shots.

Bullets pass by faster than I can even think, or judge for that matter, and then a shredded piece of cloth flutters off my shoulder and the red hits me in the face.

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