Luke stared at me with a pitiful mixture of fright and relief in his eyes. He made a noise through his gag that sounded like a wounded kitten. I wanted to embrace him, wipe the rough tear stains away from his cheeks, and tell him that it would all be okay. But how could I say that everything was going to be alright? Everything about him: his tall but defensive posture, his tragedy filled eyes, all screamed that he knew the situation was nothing close to alright. I could see his belief that the heroes always win deteriorate before my eyes. The harder he held onto his hopes the more they slipped away.
Jacob gave me a smile with a look in his eyes that told me he could smell my anticipation and Luke's fear. He produced a gun and cocked it before leveling it with Luke's head. Luke began to shake and several precious tears slipped down his face. I could taste the copper-flavored fear in my mouth as I thought, Not Luke. Not my son.
Description of the character Luke from my story Steel Horizons.
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