It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I never, never wanted it to be like this. My fingers tightened their grip on the .45 Colt butt. I wanted to cry, I wanted to let the flood of tears lose and pour out of my eyes, but I could not. It would blur my vision and right now, that was the last thing I wanted. My eyes revolved wildly around in my socket.
The gun barrel pressed against the temple. My hand was wrapped around her, the victim’s throat. I felt the reverberation of her sobbing. I never, never wanted it to be like this.
There was a child’s voice crying and for a mili-second, my eyes glanced at the five year old child crying on the black tar road. My son, that was my son. Why was he crying? He had me... Me? I’ve been away more than half of his life, too busy fighting demons. I never, never wanted it to be this way.
His mother, my wife, she was the victim, I was clutching her, she was the person on whom the gun barrel was pressed against. How did this happen. It just did not make sense. I had come here to talk to her. To explain why I couldn’t sleep, why I had to have the gun in under my pillow, why I hit her, to answer all the reasons she kicked me out and all the reasons why she was getting a divorce against me.
The demons, the bullet ridden bodies, the faces, they never left me. My nerves.... they were shot, they would never be the same. They always twitched. A loud bang, a loud fire cracker, a brown coloured man... trigger... then I would lose it.
It was a cool night, but sweat was pouring down my face. A powerful beam of light came down from the helicopter that hovered meters above us. A bright light was shinning on me.
The police, they wanted me to put the gun down and... I wanted to. But I know the stories, they would shoot me, they would kill me. No one loved a shell shocked victim.
My son... he was still crying, crying for his mother. I slackened my grip. This was not the right way to get them back. I was broken. They didn’t deserve me.
***
The sniper on top of the helicopter had the criminal in his cross chairs. He was waiting for the order to go. He knew how these situations went. They went with victim’s brain splattered all over the place. “You have a go”, the Police Chief’s voice whispered in his radio ear piece.
He took a deep breath and then held it in. The criminal had not moved. His finger pulled the trigger, but it was too late.
The victim, she moved, the criminal, he let her go. She moved her head. He wished to God that he could change the trajectory of the bullet or stop her from moving her head, but it was already on its way. A mili-second after he pulled the trigger, the victim’s brain was splattered all over the place.
The gun barrel pressed against the temple. My hand was wrapped around her, the victim’s throat. I felt the reverberation of her sobbing. I never, never wanted it to be like this.
There was a child’s voice crying and for a mili-second, my eyes glanced at the five year old child crying on the black tar road. My son, that was my son. Why was he crying? He had me... Me? I’ve been away more than half of his life, too busy fighting demons. I never, never wanted it to be this way.
His mother, my wife, she was the victim, I was clutching her, she was the person on whom the gun barrel was pressed against. How did this happen. It just did not make sense. I had come here to talk to her. To explain why I couldn’t sleep, why I had to have the gun in under my pillow, why I hit her, to answer all the reasons she kicked me out and all the reasons why she was getting a divorce against me.
The demons, the bullet ridden bodies, the faces, they never left me. My nerves.... they were shot, they would never be the same. They always twitched. A loud bang, a loud fire cracker, a brown coloured man... trigger... then I would lose it.
It was a cool night, but sweat was pouring down my face. A powerful beam of light came down from the helicopter that hovered meters above us. A bright light was shinning on me.
The police, they wanted me to put the gun down and... I wanted to. But I know the stories, they would shoot me, they would kill me. No one loved a shell shocked victim.
My son... he was still crying, crying for his mother. I slackened my grip. This was not the right way to get them back. I was broken. They didn’t deserve me.
***
The sniper on top of the helicopter had the criminal in his cross chairs. He was waiting for the order to go. He knew how these situations went. They went with victim’s brain splattered all over the place. “You have a go”, the Police Chief’s voice whispered in his radio ear piece.
He took a deep breath and then held it in. The criminal had not moved. His finger pulled the trigger, but it was too late.
The victim, she moved, the criminal, he let her go. She moved her head. He wished to God that he could change the trajectory of the bullet or stop her from moving her head, but it was already on its way. A mili-second after he pulled the trigger, the victim’s brain was splattered all over the place.
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