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Just a Guessing Game
By: Megan B

He ran through the alley, nearing the woods. The sun was low, so maybe the shadows would conceal. Reaching the woods, he felt into his jacket pocket. Still there. Glancing behind him, he could still see she was chasing him.
This has got to end. I didn’t mean it, he thought. Curving off the path, he darted for the nearest tree, where the pulled out his gun. Turning abruptly had shocked his victim, but now she was on him. Turning, the gunman pulled up the gun and squeezed the trigger. The girl had no choice but to have no reaction—it all came too quickly.
They—both—heard the single bullet whizz through the air and hit its aim. With a shrill, short cry, the girl fell flat on her back.
Not believing what he was seeing, the gunman leaned over the girl as she lay limp in the dead leaves. The dark blood pooled from the hole in her forehead and pronounced her as dead as the leaves—as dead as the soul of the man.
Looking around and adjusting his hat, he ran off into the woods. She wasn’t his first—wasn’t his last.
He was now in the midst of the woods, in the midst of the night.
I have a gun, I have a knife, he thought. Crouching behind a tree for a brief rest, he glanced back. Nothing.
Wait.
Quickly turning back again, he could see a faint figure approaching in the dull moonlight. Grabbing his gun, he stood up and waited. Closer it came. He was not to be afraid! Taking aim, he slowly raised the gun.
Now he could see the figure. A man. A smiled curved on upon his lips.
Another bullet. Another man. Another death. But this was different. The gunman felt a slight wave of fear…
Gun raised, he shot and ran. Not knowing if he hit, but he ran.
As he ran, he looked back and saw the dark figure double over on the ground. Didn’t get him!
Trying again, he fired. And missed.
Frustrated, he ran and hid behind yet another tree. Waiting…Nothing. He looked up at the sky.
Oh, please, he though. Let me not burn in Hell.
Hanging his head, he walked on. Morning was close.
Deciding what was best, he stayed behind his tree. Waiting, catching breaths.
Not long and they would be on him.
Reloading he gun, he sat and glanced around.
Empty.
Again, he adjusted his hat and stood. Pointed his gun forward, he stepped from behind the tree.
The sun was now low in the sky, but up. And so was the detective. He was on him!
Swiftly he walked towards the man, gun aimed. As he rose to shoot, the detective closed his eyes and pointed down.
Confused, the gunman took a breath and—
A whizzing sound came from his left and he spun to see a man jump at him. He didn’t have time to shoot.
The men collided, and they fell to the ground—gun falling solo along side of them.
Don’t go off. Don’t go off! The gunman pleaded.
Landing on the brush, he watched his prize possession fall to the ground. It seemed like forever. Even last moment seemed too dramatic.
Finally, it reached the ground. And went off.
Pain ran through the gunman’s body and to his arm as the bullet entered. Gasping, he felt for his arm.
Blood ran over this jacket and to the ground.
Looking up, his eyes glossed over as he laid, sun raised, in the middle of the woods, wounded.
Not paying any heed to the other awed men, he grabbed for his knife. He dug at the bullet, resulting in a bigger mess.
He dropped his knife, gripped his arm, and stood.
As the detective rushed forward to handcuff the man, the gunman bowed to the men and walked home, fading as he did so. The earth spun uncontrollably and he reached, again, for his newly loaded gun.
Later, it was reported three were found dead.