He couldn't remember the order.  Had the muzzle flash come first?  Then the report?  Or was it the other way around?  Either way, the anvil that hit his chest and left shoulder soon after was the deciding factor.  A clear "no shit Sherlock" situation.  The pinkish cloud that still hung in the air was evidence of this.  And now, godamnit(!) his watch sounded odd.

The feet of the chair that he pushed across the industrial grade tile screamed with friction like an animal caught in a trap.  About to die.  There was a certain Irony in that sound that made him chuckle through a mouthful of crimson teeth.

"Think I look bad?  You should see the other guy."  He said to no one in particular, as he was the Last.

He chuckled again.  Candy cane teeth gleaming under the glow of iridescent lighting.  What worried him the most was not the place where his shoulder once was, but the letter in his breast pocket.  Words are a fragile thing, he thought to himself.  Very fragile.

Comments

[TwoBusy]

The gauntlet has been thrown...

[Ms Picket to You]

And now there's booze all over the floor.

[mommymae]

quite fragile, indeed.