| Red, blue
Red, blue, red, blue. He watches from the alley as the police speed by. His hands quiver, he throws up all over the rough cement. Coming through the red mist of his rage he finds himself naked in a spot light, no defense against the oncoming barrage of emotions. He looks at his arm, and the vile contraption that seems to have welded itself onto the blood soaked appendage. He wonders how he will survive with his newly acquired knowledge of death.
Silence. The deafening sound is enough to drive an already troubled man into the black abyss of insanity, from where there is no return. When he thinks about his preys last moments he vomits. When he dreams about the crime, he wakes in a frightful rage. He is flirting with the edge of the abyss, hoping the wind will not push him in as he leans precariously over the edge to see what his life could become.
Pain. Blood on the floor. Pain. His hand is still clutching the contraption. Blood on the floor. Smoke rises from his shooting hand. Blood on the floor. His attempt was in vain, his cowardice prevented it. Blood on the floor. He still clutches the piston in his right hand. Its metal somehow integrated with his skin. Pain. He runs away from his hiding place, and blacks out after two blocks.
Breakfast. It smells like breakfast. He is confused as to where he is. He remembered running, and blacking out, but not where he ran to. He does not remember why he ran this way after he left his hiding place, not until he smells the bacon. He remembers what he ate only minutes before he became a criminal. He remembers where he is, and where he was going.
Death. It surrounds the house. An aura caused by his rash actions. He knows that he has only one thing left to do to put his soul at peace. He walks under the police lines, and into the house, where he sees her standing there, her eyes red from crying. He walks straight to her and drops the gun at her feet, turns around and spreads his arms out wide.
Freedom. The moment the gun leaves his hand he feels as if he has been freed of a terrible burden, but he knows that even his own self liberation is of no benefit to those whom he has wronged. Then he feels the fiery pain of lead burning through his spine, severing his ties with the corporeal world. Even before he hits the ground his spirit is freed from his mortal coil, and allowed free passage wherever he may choose. | 
Linear Mode
