Paco Valdez
BO
<font face="bookman old style">The quickest way out will hopefully be the easiest. You run from the kitchen back into the living room and hurry towards the door. No sooner does your hand touch the doorknob than you hear a voice behind you.
"Where you headed in such a rush, lover?" Comes the feminine voice.
Son of a bitch, You think, I forgot about Claire. You turn around slowly and take note of the pistol in her hands. You raise your hands in the air.
She walks up to you shaking her head and showing you a smile of regret. The barrel stays pointed at you. "This is really a shame, you know?" She says as she approaches.
"Why is that?" You ask.
"If you would have left it at a backhand, I could have just let you go. But you couldn't stop there could you?" She presses the back of one hand to her bruised cheek, her other hand still pointing that barrel at you with a finger lightly grazing the trigger.
"It's too bad, too." She says, "I really liked you."
She gives you a wink before pulling the trigger and splattering your brains all over the ground behind you. You fall in a crumpled heap, somehow still alive, and she kicks at your head.
Your vision fades slowly, your hearinng fading with it. The last sense you comprehend is the taste of death on your tongue. Death is a salty thing, you think abstractly, it tastes like blood.
<font face="bookman old style">The quickest way out will hopefully be the easiest. You run from the kitchen back into the living room and hurry towards the door. No sooner does your hand touch the doorknob than you hear a voice behind you.
"Where you headed in such a rush, lover?" Comes the feminine voice.
Son of a bitch, You think, I forgot about Claire. You turn around slowly and take note of the pistol in her hands. You raise your hands in the air.
She walks up to you shaking her head and showing you a smile of regret. The barrel stays pointed at you. "This is really a shame, you know?" She says as she approaches.
"Why is that?" You ask.
"If you would have left it at a backhand, I could have just let you go. But you couldn't stop there could you?" She presses the back of one hand to her bruised cheek, her other hand still pointing that barrel at you with a finger lightly grazing the trigger.
"It's too bad, too." She says, "I really liked you."
She gives you a wink before pulling the trigger and splattering your brains all over the ground behind you. You fall in a crumpled heap, somehow still alive, and she kicks at your head.
Your vision fades slowly, your hearinng fading with it. The last sense you comprehend is the taste of death on your tongue. Death is a salty thing, you think abstractly, it tastes like blood.
