Go Ahead, Shoot

Chapter Four

Alfred walked into a small building and looked around. It was nice, but secluded. He guessed that it used to be an old general store, but it could've been anything.

The building was falling apart, rotting away, and mold and termites were everywhere. A few shelves were sticking out of the walls, and a counter right in from of them.

Sadness encoated his heart, he was still in the middle of mourning, though he had to take care of the chunks he had left.

"I dunno, guys," He started, looking at the scattered pieces of sky from the broken ceiling. "This might be dangerous."

He sniffed, smelling something acrid, hitting him right in the face. Alfred stiffened, and stopped in his stride. Shuffling was seen in the corner.

"Told ya." was all he said before the creature glanced at him. It stood up.

A starving dog growled at him, its nose twitched a little as it bared its teeth. "It's okay, boy," Alfred tried calming it, but watched its hackles raise, making it seem more frail but considerably larger. "You want food?"

He put the bucket down, kicking it over to the dog. The bucket fell over, spilling its continents. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, but the dog seemed to calm down, but kept its eyes on Alfred and its hackles still raised. It sniffed the meat, and started digging in, giving Alfred to get out of there before he was considered edible.

Walking out, the American turned and gazed at the building, the feasting dog, the bucket, and sighed, closing the door behind him.

The sun practically blinded him, shooting off his glasses into some other direction. He rubbed his eyes a few times, then walked home.

His mind went offward as his eyes made sure of where he was going every few seconds.

Who killed him, though? He thought, feeling sad about his wandering thoughts. He swallowed the sorrow and tears. Nobody in his neighborhood seemed bad enough to kill; never know behind closed doors, though. He paused, though his feet still walking him home. I-it could've been... Me, could it?

He shook his head sharply, tugging at the sides of his collar. No, his mind continued to wander. The acts stopped, it's not me. Even if it were, I would've remembered.

Finally reaching his house, he swallowed hard. What if it is me?

He stopped everything, looking at the bright blue sky with desperation and despair, then went inside.

A short chapter. Oh well, it's 12:23 in the morning, I'll let you get back to your regularly scheduled news report. (Get it? A lot of news shows play at thi--alright, I'll stop.)