It came down like a giant fireball. I looked at it like a curious schoolboy as it drew near me. I closed my eyes and then, it was darkness.
The gun is real. As the stagehands move the body offstage, a clueless spectator gushes: “This play’s so realistic!” The sirens draw closer.
Take out garbage, put laundry away, write detailed note of who to notify, lie on newly made bed, take pills and wait, maybe cry.
When her arm touched his as she walked past him at the service, her heart beat faster than it did in two decades of her marriage.
Grandma got run over by a bus and I can’t stop thinking about that stupid song.
His sweaty hands clicked the safety. Shaking, they pulled the trigger. Noise. Pain. Silence. Peace for him, but not his wife and children.