You be the Judge

My victim is not even aware of my presence. My foot steps go unnoticed as I cross the field, my feet sinking slightly into the black soil. My hands grasp my victim and my blade hacks through the soft tissue. My steel rends the vessels that provided life and vitality. Life flows from the un-moving form in my hands. The only sound...my breath. The organism that once held so much life, withers.

*     *     *

I approach my victim. She stands there, staring at me. She is not afraid, simply too stupid to understand the danger as she has been conditioned to trust me. My hands tense around the handle of my weapon. My left foot comes slightly forward. My lungs expand as I prepare. The final motion begins with the contraction of several muscles in my back and arms. With a swift stroke, my arms race in an arc over my head, and the hammer lands solidly between her eyes. The kinetic energy of my blow is transferred into her skull. Her cranium is shattered and blood vessels rupture as shards of bone lance into her brain. She crumples to the floor at my feet. Residual electrical impulses cause slight twitching which quickly subsides.

*     *     *

The muscles in my fingers contract slowly and evenly drawing the trigger backward. The firing pin springs forward striking the primer. A small spark. The gunpowder ignites, gasses expand causing the bullet to begin it's journey. It travels down the barrel, the rifling forcing it to spin. The bullet exits the muzzle with a gout of flame and an explosion of noise. It slices through the air, it's rotation stabilizing it's trajectory for the short journey to it's target. The projectile reaches it's destination. It strikes my victim's chest. Skin rips apart and bones are shattered as the small piece of lead enter's the chest cavity. The resistance of the flesh forces the bullet to deform and expand causing more and more damage as it travels through the body. It bores through the heart and lung. The injury is fatal but the malignant trespasser has not yet finished it's gruesome journey. As it leaves the lung it encounters more ribs causing even more expansion. When it finally exits the body, the wound is many  times larger than the original size of the bullet. My victim tries to flee, a reaction of instinct. But the body refuses to cooperate with the orders of the mind. I approach the prostrate form, my heart racing from the exhilaration. 


I'm a vegetarian. Want a salad?
I'm a farmer. Want a burger?
I'm a hunter. Want some venison?