A Cold, Metal Pain

My fists clenched the front of his shirt with a painful amount of strength. Slamming him against the wall only made him squeal like a pig and wish a worse fate upon his sorry state. The way I was feeling I was happy to put him through such a fate. I threw him to the side, into the corner of the room, pointing my revolver at his stumbling form, firing without a moment’s hesitation. The sorry excuse of a man collapsed dead in his stumbling and I yelled my anger with the roar of the gun.

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