I had one shot. It brushed his left knee and punched a hole in the wall. He halted, racing no more but exhibited no sign of pain; only blood filled that area. I had another shot but this time through his left patella. He let out a loud cry but didn’t seem remorseful about what he had done. I became so furious. Being that he had been paralyzed from the first two shots and unable to escape, I took my time, aimed for my offering basket which happened to be his skull and generously donated my last bullet. He was gone. Perfect.
I looked across the room and there she lay, almost lifeless and breathing heavily. “Why did I have to leave?” I thought to myself. A feeling of regret swept through me. If only I could turn back the hands of time. It was half past 10pm when I stepped out of the house to purchase some bread and milk from a nearby store as we had run out of supplies. On my way back, there was an accident. A couple was involved but unhurt. I offered to help them out but never knew my own was going to bear the brunt.
He definitely crept in through the window. She was alone, vulnerable and must have been terrified; too weak to resist him. Her illness had overwhelmed her. He must have had his way but I walked in and killed for my love.