And the radio yelled "999"

His breathing came heavy, every exhale a visible mist. Solid, yet so quickly fadeing in the chill of the darkness, only to be replaced anew by another labored breath. His hand placed firmly on his abdomen, sadly, in vain. With each pumping of his lungs, he could feel the liquid pour from the hole in his gut. But, there laying in the darkness, he was not afraid. He had not real thoughts at all. He did not think of the bulletproof vest, resting in the passenger seat of his car. There was no regret. He did not think of his mother or father, or his girlfriend of many years. Everthing just was. Everything was just peaceful now, but even that, in the moment was not even a comprehen of his mind. In the distance, a faint voice called from a box mounted on a hood, but he had no reply to give, he did not even realize it as a thing for his breath had began so slow. Each cload now coming slowler and slower from his lips. His hand still clutching below his chest, the warmest part of the whole evening, steadily pumping out of his body. There was no though of an end, but there in the darkness, just off the side of the road, he breathed out his last little cloud, and eyes staring up at a clear sky blinked a slow last time, and he could not help but think "the stars are so beautiful*.