"Please...I beg of you...Show a little mercy." I pretend to ponder their request as they cough up blood. They did put up a good fight, I smirked. I had to admire my work, I had them begging, pleading for mercy. Unable to hide my amusement, I released a low dark chuckle. I abruptly start walking away from the dying individual. Behind my back I can hear their blood filled coughs and barely audible begs for nearby help. I stop walking and look over my shoulder extending my arm back, gun in hand. I fired, they fell lifeless. Headshot.
"There's no mercy for the weak." I turn back and continue walking forward away from the scene. However, I stop again for a brief second before muttering more to myself than the corpse. "And, there's no hope for the wicked."
YOU ARE READING
Untitled No.1
Short StoryThis is a collection of short stories (and I mean short), I wrote and typed. They're all pretty short since, I can never finish an actual story... I always lose motivation or get pretty bad writer's block. If you guys enjoy this I might post my poem...
