Our Father - Movement 1

Our Father, who art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name:

"…oh God…"

Stomach.
Lungs.
Soul.

The bullet left a hole in my body, a history of its short lived life. My hands, shaking, tried to hold myself together. I cried.

The man holding the gun wasn’t a picture of confidence, this wasn’t the movies. Fear in his eyes. His breathing was heavier then mine, his heartbeat louder…I dunno, maybe that was MY heartbeat. Didn’t matter.

Blood.
Life flashes before my eyes, like its running out of my body:

Kid with a toy, believes he is superman.
I wish that they’d swoop down in a country lane, late at night while im driving.
I love you (I don’t).
Smell of frying bacon in the morning.
Taste of a beer after a hard day.
Feel of warm soft lips on yours.
Not happy Jan.
Coca-Cola.
Jazz music.
Warmth of a slender hand on your chest.
Laughter so hard it hurts.
“Hmmm…tastes like chicken”
Accomplishing dreams (failing dreams).
Watching internet cartoons.
Making somebody laugh.
Uncomfortable silence…
…
…yeah…
Looking at her.
Crisp cold mornings.
Looking down the barrel of the gun.
The sight of the finish line.

Cough *blood*.
No more life to flash before my eyes. I look up towards my killer.

He has the ultimate power, the power to take life.

He took.