You took your gun out and aimed it at me. You cackled as you wiped the perspiration from your forehead. It wasn’t even hot in the room. In fact, it felt like a freezer. Or was it just me that felt the cold?
I looked up and saw through the broken ceiling window a sliver of the moon. It soon disappeared, as if turning its back on me. I looked back down and saw my bloody hands.
“Are you ready?” you snickered. For what? I thought.
As if you read my mind, your finger pulled the trigger.