413 Shots

413 Shots

413 shots left

I slammed the glass onto the table,

Not really minding the glare I got from the bartender,

Not really caring how the person next to me jumped.

I could already feel the buzz of the alcohol.

412 shots left

I paid the tender what I due him, and

Slipped out of the bar. I grabbed

The syringe of pure adrenaline out of my pocket,

And inserted it into my arm. I’d need it tonight.

411 shots left

I started up my cycle, sprayed rocks and dirt at that

God-forsaken place. Steering with one hand, the other

On a 44 revolver. I aimed as I passed, pulled the trigger,

And watched as the target slumped forward in his chair.

410 shots left

I tore up the drive of an old friend, smiling as I shot to the sky.

He looked at me and waved for me to follow.

“I thought you’d prefer this. It’s more destructive.” He said.

I laughed manically. It was a MG42. Hitler’s buzzsaw.

409 shots left

I took off again, to my main target(s).

A small house, just off the main road,

Filled with high-class snobs not expecting a thing.

I shot the guard, the traitorous bastard, with the 44.

408 shots left

I crawled into the air vent that had been opened previously,

By the guard might I add. I paid him in full with the gunshot.

One of my victims was below me, alone.

He fell to the ground with a bullet in his head from the 44, again.

407 shots left

I continued on to the main room, and crawled out onto the balcony.

No one was allowed up here, not even guards. I positioned myself

On the ground, the nozzle of the MG42 pressed below the banister.

Pulled the trigger for no more than 2 seconds, all I needed.

1 shot left

I took off like a bat out of hell. In a second,

I was on the ground, staring at the previous friend.

“Did you think I would let you get away with that?” he asked me.

“Yes.” With the last of my strength, I aimed the 44 at him.

I pulled the trigger, watched as he crumpled to the ground.

My vision faded and my arm dropped.

No shots left