Morgan Karga, Everywhere and Nowhere – Part 3

An empty shell clanks out the chamber of my gun and concrete chips at the edge of the wall not even five inches from the side of my head.

“George!” Straining my voice, “The fuck is going on?!”

Another shot, and another. Shadowy figures drop from the outside and the pouring rain, drowned out by the popping and crackling. The empty clip slides from the bottom of the pistol where my finger lets it drop and I jam the only other one I got into its chamber with the palm of my hand. A bullet pushes past the fluttering of my hair in the frantic air and I slide down to the ground onto my hip.

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