The Weekly Vomit Issue 2 | Seite 5

Bob unscrewed the cap on his bottle, turned it up, blowing bubble in the amber whiskey. Thump, creak, thump, creak, the footsteps were getting closer. He sat the bottle down and pulled the large revolver out from his waist band. By now his eyes were filling with tears. Thump, thump, thump…the doorknob turned. Bob cocked the hammer on the pistol, raised it to head level. Oh, God, I can’t even see…. Creak, the door opened with a moan. Boom! The bullet let the muzzle, traveling over 1400 feet per second. It seemed to hit its target almost as soon as it left the weapon. The entrance wound was the size of a pinky finger, but the exit was the size of a tennis ball. Pink mist filled the air; the female figure fell instantly. Bob wiped his eyes. Oh, God! “Nooooooooo!” Grace!” Bob yelled. “What are you doing here?” To be Continued….