Panting, he collapses in a chair. Deep, ragged, gasping breaks the silence of the dimly lit room as he struggles to catch his breath. He rubs the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed. Absentmindedly, he reaches out and grasps the TV remote.
Click.
“–and in other news tonight, you will not be–”
Click.
“–forgotten? They’re lost inside yooouur memoryyyy–”
Click.
“–where you killed them! Didn’t you? I know it was you–”
Click.
“And folks, we have a special announcement tonight. We have a wonderful–”
Click.
“–problem. Tough dirt, gritty slime and blood stains; no problem. We have the solution, because–”
Click.
“–the assailant appears to have fled the scene on foot taking his firearm with him. The victim is in a critical condition after what appears to have been a mugging gone wrong–no, wait, we’re just getting news in that the victim has died en route to the hospital. This mugging-gone-wrong takes a dark turn as the victim, a local hero and charity worker has died before reaching the hospital from an apparent shot to the chest during a struggle. Local police have noted that a witness from the nearby park has given a precursor identification of the perpetrator–”
Click, and the TV screen flickers off.
The room, briefly filled with the electric dancing lights of its screen returns to its dimly lit previous state.
He leans forward in the chair, heart pounding in his chest. His palms are sweaty. He lifts the gun from where he put it beside him on the table. The metal is cool to the touch. It still smells faintly like gunpowder and death. He slowly turns it around on himself and stares down the cold, dark barrel.
Click.