Hell Bent

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Annabelle felt the distant ache of her weapon’s recoil on her right shoulder. The curve of the trigger was a bend of cold, smooth steel beneath her finger. There was no sound but the buzzing of nothing in her head. That severe silence that follows a gun blast.

It was a throbbing drone that drowned out the rest of her slow-motion world.

She’d done it. She’d really done it.

She’d killed a man.

A short eternity spanned before Annabelle realized she wasn’t breathing. Nothing coming in. Nothing going out. Even with the realization, she couldn’t seem to make her lungs move. No expanding. No contracting. She was stuck in disbelief and it acted like a hardening cement around her body.

She simply gazed, unmoving, at the scene beyond the bullet hole in the window of the building across from her. There was so much blood; a thick crimson paint slowly coating the floor. And it was her fault.

Silence droned in her ear drums.

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