Short writing practice

Sleeping Man's Flower

A/N: Fair warning, there is minor description of gore, so this may not be for you if it makes you uncomfortable.
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     A dark night blanketed the city, stars high above the clouds shrouded by the light of lamps standing tall. The streets littered with garbage ran left and right, forwards and backwards, around and across. Vehicles with roaring motors raced along, the only goal within the drivers' minds to get where they wished. Titan buildings rose into the sky and vanished past grey haze. Desultory lights flicked on and off sluggishly with unplanned intervals behind thick glass windows, panes firm and secure.
     Far below on a cracked concrete path a man walked, dusty blond hair fluttering lightly in the contaminated breeze. His once pristine white t-shirt was smeared with the remnants of a greasy but affordable dinner. Hazel eyes on an olive face stared down into the screen of a dying cell phone. His shoes tapped along the ground, echoing faintly.
     The man cursed as the device he held drained of battery. He angrily shoved it into a deep shorts pocket, and with a begrudged expression, looked up. He supressed a shiver at the sight of the shadowy buildings, and spoke with his gruff voice, "shoot. I'm lost." He shuffled along the pathway, searching for a familiar landmark.
As he walked, he began to hear the sound of rythmic footsteps behind his own. He turned down a different street. The steps followed suit. His pace quickened, rushing down the long road. The other steps mirrored his own, like an echo of a shadow that was not his. They continued to follow as he tried to lose them, but to no avail.
     He finally turned into a darkened alleyway, breath hitching. Dead end. No way out. The man spun on his heel, but his way was blocked by a shadowed figure. He stepped back. It stepped forward, a cruel reflection. He raised his arms in surrender, praying for a god's answer within his mind. The other raised a single hand, within it laying a menacing looking gun, glinting with the light of a towering street light behind him. Before the petrified man could plead for mercy, an ear-splitting sound rang out.
BANG
     The shot echoed throughout the alleys and into the street, covered up by roaring engines of appalling drivers racing illicitly down the avenues. The man fell to his back as the attacker approached, reaching forwards to rifle through his pockets hungrily as though he were digging for treasure. Warmth seeped through, oozing out of his jaws parted in shock, an expression seemingly frozen in time. A crimson rose blossomed forth on his chest, staining the white cotton with its dark petals, a sleeping man's flower.