Author's Note: This will be short.
It's not like he knew the guy.
It was just a guy, the same feeling I would have for any other guy I passed on the street. Not exceptional in any way. Average build, average weight, average looks. So painfully average, he could have walked into an airport with a bomb strapped to his chest and no one would notice.
That's why he had to be offed, now wasn't it?
I was just new at it, I guess, which was why I found myself hesitating at the trigger. I just thought about him with a family or a kid or a mother or a dog, or somebody that depended on him for something. These details make the difference between a clean concious and a sleepless night.
He would have just thrown the gun to the floor, if he could. It was a cold thought, playing God on someone. Just shooting them up, deciding whether or not they get another heart beat. It makes you feel guilty, even if you don't do it. He was alive, because you decided he would be. He was dead, because you implanted a bullet in his chest.
I do it, though. I don't wait to see his reaction, or his surprise, or anything about it. I just kill him, like I've been told. I've seen it done before, but this is different. The backlash of the gun is like having your bones saw together until it's gravy, and gun powder sticks to your fingers like glue. You don't want to look, but you do. You always do. Don't ever think you'll resist that glance the first time. You'll always look that first time.
It's not gruesome. I couldn't even see the wound, he was back up. But still, he was very dead, and I had killed him.
I felt the moment of guilt, of pity, more guilt, but then I'm surprised when it's gone so quickly. I like it that way, and I sleep well that night.
Like they say, it's always best to get your first time out of the way.