The night was warm, close even; the humidity had left him covered in a sheen of sweat, even though he was clothed only in a pair of boxer shorts. The gun was heavy in his hand now, where before he had felt almost as though it was holding itself up, or at least that it had given him strength. He looked down at it hanging by his side; just to look at it there seemed to be nothing different about it. There was no curling smoke coming from the muzzle, nor was the slide locked out as one often saw guns in the movies.
He turned slowly and looked down at the bodies behind him, one of them was still alive, but the neck wound had left them with nothing to do but to silently open and close their mouth, like a fish gasping to breathe in air.
He lifted the muzzle of the gun and cradled it in his other hand, then looked deep into the eyes of his gasping victim;
“You want me to end it?”
The look of terror on their bloodied face intensified, and they started to shake their head violently.
“I should leave you alive?”