“Or maybe,” the host said, rising from his chair, “you believed him when he said he’d take you back home, that this world would dissolve like a dream, a bad dream, and you’d wake up in your mother’s arms again?”
The host walked into the barrel of the policeman’s gun, and with the tip of his finger, he pointed it right at his heart.
“Fire,” he said. “My prayers are answered. I can die happy. I wonder, can you?”
The host closed his eyes and waited.
He heard no loud crack of gunpowder but felt a crack against his skull.
Tale Told 