‹ Prequel: Thriller
Disenchanted
2006, Part Two.
A / N : okay so it's still 2006, i'm traveling backwards in time, while every other chapter is traveling forwards. sorry it's short. go with it. =]
Ten minutes earlier.
The explosion of shot was ten times louder than I'd expected it to be, and we both screamed at the same time. The actual impact was also forceful: my weak arm buckled under the weight of the bullet shooting from the gun, and I jumped back about five feet. My eyes closed as I stumbled backwards, hitting a brick wall with my back.
I clenched my eyes shut for several minutes, listening, waiting, but not wanting to look. All I could hear was the pitter-patter of drizzling raindrops hitting the metal dumpster nearby. There wasn't any other sound, with the exception of my own shaky breaths.
I opened my eyes, letting them adjust to the dark. His body lay on the ground, motionless, crumpled into a small figure. Just as I'd imagined it.
What I hadn't imagined was my reaction: I fell to my knees around his body, letting the gun drop to my side and land on the asphalt with a loud clang. My shaking fingers touched his cheek, just enough to feel his cold, empty skin. His arms were turned face-up, and I could still see the light blue veins running under his flesh; the fact that there was no longer any blood running through them, because of me, because of something I did, made me feel sick.
This wasn't how I imagined it. I imagined revenge, domination, victory. The feeling of satisfaction. The feeling of knowing that now there was no way he could ever get me back.
I felt none of this. The only thing that was running through my empty, drained mind was that I had just killed a man.
I had ended a life.
All I'd wanted to do in the first place was save my own.
Ten minutes earlier.
The explosion of shot was ten times louder than I'd expected it to be, and we both screamed at the same time. The actual impact was also forceful: my weak arm buckled under the weight of the bullet shooting from the gun, and I jumped back about five feet. My eyes closed as I stumbled backwards, hitting a brick wall with my back.
I clenched my eyes shut for several minutes, listening, waiting, but not wanting to look. All I could hear was the pitter-patter of drizzling raindrops hitting the metal dumpster nearby. There wasn't any other sound, with the exception of my own shaky breaths.
I opened my eyes, letting them adjust to the dark. His body lay on the ground, motionless, crumpled into a small figure. Just as I'd imagined it.
What I hadn't imagined was my reaction: I fell to my knees around his body, letting the gun drop to my side and land on the asphalt with a loud clang. My shaking fingers touched his cheek, just enough to feel his cold, empty skin. His arms were turned face-up, and I could still see the light blue veins running under his flesh; the fact that there was no longer any blood running through them, because of me, because of something I did, made me feel sick.
This wasn't how I imagined it. I imagined revenge, domination, victory. The feeling of satisfaction. The feeling of knowing that now there was no way he could ever get me back.
I felt none of this. The only thing that was running through my empty, drained mind was that I had just killed a man.
I had ended a life.
All I'd wanted to do in the first place was save my own.