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Flowers for Boda
Viktor Lih started to cry. It wasn’t lost little boy crying, the kind you do standing besides a shopping counter under the warm smile of a customer service lady. It was broken heart crying, the deep, seismic sobbing of the bereft. It was grief, and he couldn’t control it. He couldn’t choke it off and shut it down. 

He was hurt, scared, upset and extremely vulnerable, and this failed mission was simply providing the right conditions for his present misery.

It was all about mistakes and stupid choices, and a shocking realization that he’d fucked up. He’d failed on most of the basic professional levels expected of him. He’d fundamentally compromised his performance as a CCDPD officer.

More than anything else, it was about a man called Boda Oszkar. Lih was weeping uncontrollably over a man he hadn’t really known. He was expressing his grief for Boda.

When it was done, when his cries passed away like a rainstorm moved on by the wind, he felt oddly better. He felt more together than at any point since getting those donuts from the bakery when he woke up.

Somebody was coming to the church yard. He looked at them, and for a second the vice of grief threatened to tighten again. Lih shook it off.


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Flowers for Boda - by Lih - 07-24-2019, 04:17 PM

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