The victims' prayer

         I had screwed up and I knew it. Leaving the gun loaded was stupid enough, but cleaning it loaded was asking for trouble. When it went off, I knew immediately what had happened, but for a few seconds I thought I had escaped unharmed. There was no pain in the beginning. When it came though, it came fast and hard. Searing pain surged through my abdomen, and I knew it was bad. Right through the gut, about an inch above the belly button, and two inches to the right. The bullet must have gone in at an angle though, because I couldn’t feel my legs. I needed to get help, but damn, that was a long ways away. I would need to crawl, pulling myself along with only my arms. Oh Christ, there was so much blood. It wasn’t looking like I was going to see my son grow up after all.

         I began pulling myself along the floor, leaving a trail of blood in my wake. I was getting tired … feeling weak. I wasn’t going to make it to the door, not even close. I was just going to die right there on the floor. I knew Karen was going to be really pissed about the blood all over the floor.

         I hadn’t really been a very good guy all my life, and I thought maybe this was my comeuppance. I had caused my share of heartache and pain, and I supposed some of my victims would have thrilled at the sight of me lying on the floor, with a bullet in my belly.

         My life of crime began when I was just fifteen. I stepped into a general store, knife in hand, and robbed the clerk. Not satisfied with the forty dollars and change, I stabbed her. She didn’t die, but she had been injured badly enough to spend several days in very serious condition. I had rather enjoyed the look of surprise when she realized I was going to hurt her. It left me with a sense of power I had never before experienced. It was this sense of power that had seduced me into a continued criminal lifestyle.

         It was just 3 years later that I had killed my first victim. I had not intended to kill him, but he was really pissing me off with all that whining. “Please don’t kill me, I have a family. I’ll do whatever you want.” Damn right he would do whatever I wanted; I was the one holding the gun. Stupid little bastard deserved to die, he was practically begging for it. I aimed the pistol at his face and pulled the trigger.

         The roar of the gun was deafening in the small store, and I absurdly raised my hands to cover my ears. There was a huge pattern of blood on the floor and wall behind him, and it was a couple of seconds before he slumped to the floor in a heap. I noticed small bits of a white globular substance mixed in with the blood, and guessed this to be brain matter. It was a grisly sight, but somehow I felt compelled to look at it a bit longer. I had never seen human brains before, and I would have thought this incident would have somehow made a monumental change in me, and even though I waited several seconds, the change never came.

         I laid there in agony for what seemed like hours, but was probably only an hour, and suddenly started feeling better. As I began to feel better, I remembered what was going on. I would feel better for the rest of the day, and tomorrow would be a fine day as well. The following day however would not be as pleasant. You see, when one feels pain for too long, they become desensitized to it, and we can’t have that. This is what we do here in Hell after all … we feel pain. I have been reliving my death for over a hundred earthly years now, and will continue on for billions more. Yes, THIS is what would have delighted my victims … it is probably what they prayed for.