This post is in response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers prompt.

His mind was all knotted. The synapses of his brain were truncated. What used to be a free-flowing stream of information, ideas, thoughts, feelings, were being hampered by something the doctors could not diagnose. There was a break between branches of the tree of his mind.

He looked at his wife and did not recognize her. Wait, wait, yes he does. Or did. He sees things but can’t act. She calls him by a strange name. How weird he thinks. And then in a nano of a second he just snapped. He did love her, whoever she was.

These 100 words are my entry to the weekly Friday Fictioneers Challenge.

Then, suddenly, the move went wrong. Paul  had planned the murder with meticulous care. He had set up a “meet” with his main drug cartel rival on the fifth floor of an abandoned building.  The meet was to divide up the city into two separate regions. As his rival and  bodyguard arrived two more of Paul’s gang appeared and using their automatic weapons shot them dead. Now the whole city drug trade was his. Trying to hasten their getaway he decided to use the old elevator instead of the stairs. Halfway down to freedom the elevator came to a screeching halt.