His, Not Mine

From r/WritingPrompts:

Life flashes before your eyes, not your life but the life of your killer.

 


 

It happened so fast.

One minute I was minding my business behind the register, browsing Reddit and singing along to the shitty tunes playing in the background. The next minute I had a gun to my face, and I stared down the barrel into the eyes of a broken man.

He couldn’t have been much older than me, but damn, that look he gave me. In that moment I understood; I understood why he was there. The pain, the hopelessness, and the fear I saw in his eyes somehow justified in my mind his actions.

The muzzle flashed.

The air reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. I saw a young boy screaming for his father to stop beating his mom. She was bleeding so badly, her screams tore into my soul. The father didn’t stop.

A brief, but intense bout of pain blinds my senses.

I saw a young man find his father dead in a pool of blood. Whiskey and pill bottles lay all around him. He shot himself in the head. The young man’s rage intensified as revenge was taken away.

I see a man wake up to find his girlfriend dead. The room they were in was covered in filth. She had overdosed. In the other room, a baby’s cries can be heard.

I see a man whose life has been defined by death. I see a man with no way out, a man who knows nothing but pain.

And in that moment of my death, I forgave him.

One thought on “His, Not Mine

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