Initium Sapientiae*
The thunder and lightning were fighting for control of the sky. Your hand was slippery on the pistol. I stood there watching as the rain soaked through my coat, and my shirt. You were shivering, like it was freezing or as if you were ill. I just stood there. I wasn't afraid. You were afraid. I could see it in your every movement, and then you pulled the trigger. My vision went fuzzy, and then it went dark in patches. You looked shocked, and that was vaguely pleasing. I think I faded happily.
It was a good shot, but it only punctured a lung, so he died slowly. You were sickly green, with a blush on your cheeks. You were embarrassed. I asked if you were alright, and you answered by retching in the alley way. Then you said that you kept trying to rationalize it, but there was no taking back the decision to pull the trigger. I said you'd get used to it. You didn't answer.
That night you went home, and as you lay in your bed you couldn't get the scene out of your head. It kept playing over, and over, and over again, driving you crazy. So you reach for that small clear bottle, and that crusted needle, because you believe that will make you forget. And it does for now, but that won't last forever, and the memory will be waiting.
*the beginning of wisdom