Opaque

The gun,
Cold in his hand.
He had a shot
But should he take it?

Tucked away
In the country
An old castle of a home
Boards protesting
With each step
It was a place
Vampires would’ve inhabited
Centuries ago
Opaque and cold
A place…
He despised.
Not just hated.
But it kept
A corner of his
Mind,always.

Rain
Falling on the distant
Rooftops,
The sun breaking,hot
Through the clouds…
He had a shot,
One shot.
He would take it…

Echoing across the
Landscape
Cold as the steel in his hand
Slicing the empty air
The shot was made
The body,
Dead.
The job,
Done.

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