Brain attack

It just sort of happened.  The gun was still smoking, and cordite burned his nostrils.  At least, what he assumed was cordite, it’s not as if he’d ever fired a fucking pistol before.  He stared down at the heavy, smoldering thing in his hand– tarnished silver, black where the grip met his hands and in the moving parts, the hammer, the trigger.  Oh Christ, the trigger.  When I hold you in my arms, and  I feel my finger on your trigger, I know nobody can do me no harm… What a load of bullshit.  There’d be plenty of harm, and more to go around.  Of course, he’d be the only one catching that heat, because there was no one else to take it.  He’d acted alone, that was absolutely true.  It wasn’t as if he’d had a motive, even.  Picked up the gun, and decided to see what it would do to someone.  The curiosity was overwhelming.  Curiosity killed this fucking guy right here.

Now it was just a matter of handling the body.  The two-hundred and eighty-seven pounds of human compost.  He was very afraid he might need an axe.