King Park

The shot of the gun still rung in my ears loud and clear; crisp as the air I breathed in this very moment. The bullet shell fell to the floor with an echo and little smoke escaped. I looked to the scene, to admire my handy work of course, only to be greeted by a pair of green eyes that I shouldn’t have been seeing.
Did I miss?
I looked quick to the body that lay on the ground; a patchy, red material lay there, blood already beginning to soak in, with a head of blonde hair peeking out.
That wasn’t it.
That wasn’t my target.
I peeled my eyes away from the scene I caused to look again at the green emeralds that stood out to me.
They knew.
They knew I was here for them.
They knew I fucked up.
In my entire career I had never missed a target, but this time I did and I knew it was going to cost me big time.
I froze in my spot contemplating my choices. I could stay and get caught or I could flee from this mistake of an assassination and know that I had a slim chance to get away before shit got real, but what bugged me more than that was the question of how I missed.
I had him in site, what went wrong?
Did I not pay enough attention?
What could it have been?
I didn’t have time to contemplate my mistakes anymore. I had to get out of here, and fast before someone could catch a glimpse of me. I turned my attention to the steering wheel, trying my best to fit in with the crowd as I sped ahead away from the locale of the crime to the only place I knew best for hiding; a less than one star motel just outside of town, near to the highway. I could forget it all.

I turned on the boxed television set in my room. A news broadcast flashed across the pixelated screen and the title read ‘King Park Shooting’. It was ironic really. The park itself was named after Martin Luther King and the fact that an innocent child met his same fate in a place with his name stapled all over it amused me slightly, but not enough to make me slap my knee laughing.
You idiot.
Keep low.
Stay out of sight.
I turned off the nuisance , closed the curtains quickly and curled up on the below average bed, holding my knees close to my chest as I breathed in and out hoping I wouldn’t be found.

It was midnight, and just like Cinderella, my time was up. I went to the ball, enjoyed a marvellous party with a handsome prince called My Gun and now it was my time to go.
They had found me here, hold up in this dump, but they wouldn’t barge in on me because they knew I had the gun with me; the one I shot the kid with. I didn’t even know his name and his blood was on my hands. I wanted to wash myself clean of this sin, to be pure again, but my mind betrayed my Uncle’s words that he was shouting through the door.
You’re not pure.
You’re filth.
You’ll never rectify what you’ve taken.
You’ll never make your peace in the world.
As I lay on the floor with the gun clutched close to me as sobs racked my body, I wanted so desperately to escape this hell; then a thought rang through my mind like a church bell.
Can I still get into Heaven if I kill myself?
In that moment, I rose from the floor and walked to the door, pressing my one free hand against it as I spoke my final monologue to everyone on the other side.
“Can I still get into Heaven if I kill myself?
Can I ever be forgiven ‘cause I killed that kid?
It was an accident; I swear it wasn’t meant for him!
And if I turn it on me, if I even it out, can I still get in or will they send me to Hell?”
I took an unsteady breath as I held the gun to my head and whispered my last words.
“Can I still get into Heaven if I kill myself?”