#tessallate

Triangles are my favorite shape

A crack like thunder. The heaviness in your hands. The scent of smoke fills your nose. You burn your finger on the barrel to feel some of the pain you just inflicted. It wouldn't be right without it. It wakes you up. As a man crumples to the floor, you straighten your back. It couldn't be right though. You weren't aiming for him.

The bullet is a perfect shape, crafted by machines into a form no man could mimic. It is the last one in the chamber. It is meant for you, but how was he to know that? The bullet did not have direction until the trigger was pulled. You only meant to disarm the man who aimed at you. Your gun was empty by that point, useless, cold. But then the bullet ignited. With the warmth, it took shape and became death. You didn’t know the reaper came in such a small, perfect shape.

From a distance, you watch. Your eyes are cross-hairs. You meant to intervene, but you weren’t quick enough and now he’s gone. You would never say he looked peaceful. After all, death is not peace. It is plunging further down. He falls to the ground and so you dismantle your weapon and tell yourself it's time to go. You can’t save him now.