Dec 07
L.ucy'sW.ork's picture

Killed The Man

Time slowed down in my eyes. I just shot the man. I shot the man and he fell to the ground. His sickly old skin looked hardly less healthy, even though he was dead. His head fell with a very undramatic plosh, landing in the dirty yet unstained alley water. He fell on his forehead, a not good thing to do when you've been shot in the front. Shot. By me. In the head. It was the easiest hard thing I've ever done, but I would gladly try again. Maybe not to this man. The .32 caliber bullet making him bleed out into the closest drain somehow made me think he might not be up for another. His hand was still moving, but it was more describable as pitiful shaking. It looked almost like he was pointing. Probably at me. I didn't turn around to check. All there was behind me was brick and concrete as far as the eye can see.
Brick and concrete, almost as when we arranged.
Brick and concrete, almost as when he brought less than promised.
Brick and concrete, almost as when my recoil pushed me back.
Brick and concrete, just like they are now, scattered with a new fluid to the walls and cobble patches.
Never underestimate something seemed set in stone
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