Title: 100 Situations
Fandom|Prompt: Bleach|Shoot
Character: {Coyote Starrk}
Rating: T
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 420 words
Summary: He couldn't do it; no matter how hard he tried.
He has never hesitated in making a kill. It didn't matter to him who he was killing, he didn't care about the life they lived or the family they had, if they had a pet or if they were fucking their neighbor's wife. They were all just blood on his hands, young lives cut short; poetic in a sense, but he was never really into poetry. To him, the only thing that mattered was the money he'd receive at the end of this hit; Jesus, it would set him for life and he'd never had to stoop to this ever again.
The higher ups assigned him this hit weeks ago and they expected his obviously successful report to be in days ago. He had expected the same too but for the first time in his life, Coyote Starrk couldn't do it. He stared openly at the person he was supposed to be killing later tonight and imagined the sight of life leaving her pretty brown eyes, her shuddering last breath and the slight limp curl her hands would take after trying desperately to staunch the blood flow. It would all be futile and all so beautiful.
In his imagination it was fine; he could see the death played out so perfectly in his head but sitting there in the dead of night, sitting on the edge of the roof, waiting for the perfect moment to strike was hard. He tried several times to pull that trigger, to end that young girl's life but each time he was left staring blankly at the night sky, uncharacteristically out of breath clutching at his chest. Tonight was the same, a sick replay of all the previous nights.
'Shoot, damn you. Shoot,' he thought to himself, head in his hands.
"Fuck," he swore at the night sky. "Fuck fuck fuck!"
A sharp pain in his heart had him on the ground in seconds and he was surprised no one made a commotion upon hearing his scream. He lay limply on the ledge he was perched on, pressing his hand against the tiny hole in his chest, looking over to the next building the window of his supposed victim. It was open. In his dying breath, he saw those pretty brown eyes he'd seen dying in his mind staring at him coldly, a small smirk on the edge of her lips, a slim gun poised in her hands. She waved and slowly shut the window with a wink.