metanoia

I lie on the floor, feeling the metallic blood as it spews out of my wounded thigh.

I find myself unable to move, my vision slightly beginning to blur out of pain and fear. I should be moving, fighting for safety, but the pain was taking over me like a drug and I simply couldn't take any action.

I weakly glanced around the room, looking for anyone who could possibly help me but there was no one.

Though I'm barely aware of my surroundings, my heart spiked when I was able to see the tall figure of the man who shot me, dressed entirely in black.

He crept towards me as his hand slowly slid in his pocket, and I knew this was it. But I was taken by surprise when he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. gripping one along with his lighter and smothering them in fresh blood in the process - blood that wasn't his own. He brought it to his lips and parted them, igniting a glowing ember on the tip of the cigarette.

He inhaled lightly and crouched down besides me, spreading his legs slightly and resting his arm on his knee. My eyes searched his mostly covered appearance, but I could see green eyes so clearly on him.

Before he spoke, he blew the smoke out the corner of his pink lips. "Told you not to run, baby."