The solid thud of his body hitting the sand, the little cloud rising around his still form, the echoing gunshot—it was all over.
Smoke rose from the glistening barrel of the gun, and the sharp smell of black powder was whelming. I couldn’t see his blood, but I could see my own—creeping round the corners of my eyes, swelling into the center—my world turned red.
My heart was pounding, and my head throbbed as I stared at the lifeless body. It didn’t make sense. My world, my precious world, couldn’t make sense of this. He was dead.
Tale Told 