The traffic is terrible. Sweat trickles down his forehead as the morning sun defiantly continues to beat down on his face - yet inside him: an anxiety so incapacitating, and a rage boiling relentlessly. It seems there's no end to this long morning unless he just goes through with it.
This is it. If I wait any longer, this opportunity will pass.
Trembling, Hans nervously pulls the window down, aims his pistol at the windshield of the black SUV behind him, and pulls the trigger. A wave of gunshots erupts. Shards of glass fly through the air as each successive bullet punches holes through the windshield. It takes a couple more before it shatters. Satisfied but a bit unsure, he stops and waits. The calm that follows is deafening. The surrounding cars lay still for a moment, unable to react, before inching away from the SUV, slowly, one by one.
Hans reluctantly disembarks from his maroon car, pistol still in hand. He cautiously goes over to the SUV to check his handiwork. His target, a man in his forties, is terrified at the sight of him approaching, and to Hans' surprise, the man remains unscathed save for a few scratches. Confused and visibly shaken, Hans finds a bloodied woman in the driver's seat next to the man, lying motionless.
Carla???
No comments:
Post a Comment