The searing pain flowered inside him, like a bucket of cold water poured over his entire being, right down to the tips of his soul. Nothing had ever made him fathom something so horrific, it made his mouth clench soo tight that his front teeth shattered, and left a taste of latex coated rocks, and blood in his mouth. It dug deeper and deeper, until it found his heart, in which it penetrated, severing the very thing keeping it going, the one nerve causing the art of life to flow in his veins, to allow him to remain in existence. His crippled carcass slowly trickled to the floor, in a manner of drunken slouching, and incoherent bliss. It fell in such a way, it looked as if it had been choreographed, and rehearsed so many times, that it were second nature, a sort of haphazard normality. The place where the bullet had entered was visible, on his face up body. Slightly lower from the spot where it had entered, rivers of blood started to flow from under his body. The casing from the jagged-hollow-point, rang as it crinkled against the concrete. He lowered the gun, and left.

The image here, is something I hoped could start out as someone was shooting up heroine, for the last time before they passed on... Only to have you realize he was just shot through the heart. Why do I choose to write soo much about death? Because it's easy.

Random Thought of The Day:
If you plan everything, nothing will happen, because everything that happens, is sparatic, and if you know everything that happens, then nothing can happen.