By Keri Lake
You become numb, traipsing the fine thread between life and death.
I wish the bullet had killed me.
At least if it had, I'd be certain of three things:
I could forget the dullness of her eyes as the blood drained out of her body.
I'd no longer hear the promise that I whispered in her ear.
And the barrel of my gun wouldn't be crammed down the throat of a man who'd begged for his life just moments before I cut out his tongue.
But that's what happens when you shoot at something impenetrable.