Shot Through The Heart by Christian Camacho

She is dead.

This girl is still innocent, still clueless, lying there still. Alone. The police have arrived. The streets are scattered with nosy neighbors tiptoeing around the yellow tape to see past the red and blue lights. What have I done? He thinks. Standing across the street, holding the one thing that shot her, the one thing that took her life, cold and heavy in his hand, the smoking gun. “My dear… I am sorry.” He whispered, into the cold night air.

Their meeting at the bookstore, all those days ago, was fate. He was supposed to be there. He was supposed to find love. He was supposed to help it along and see to its growth. He knows that isn’t the case. He made a mistake, a fatal mistake, one that he can’t come back from. He will have to answer for his crime. The paramedics file out of her house. A resounding gasp comes from the crowd. She’s alive. He sighs. Murmurs of whom it is that is being wheeled out quickly makes its rounds in the crowd.

He turns away from the scene unfolding before him. His eyes catch a woman in a white dress walking down the street heading in his direction. He averts his eyes and tells himself not to panic. She stops at his side. He looks at her one last time, her strict features sharp in the moonlight and the ever-moving glow of blue and red. She bows her head in apologies. She knows who he is. She knows what happened.

“She is going to die isn’t she?” He asks, not looking away from the girl, his victim, being loaded into the back of an ambulance. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Things just got out of control. There was yelling. I couldn’t even catch everything that was being said. I tried to quell all the emotions. She wouldn’t listen. Before I knew it, she was on the floor holding her side,” hitting his head with his fists, “blood was on her hands, I panicked. I just stood there.” By this time he is in tears, the woman in white stands there. She puts her arm on his shoulder to quell his overreaction.

“This isn’t your fault. You did not know what was going to happen. You could not have seen that this was going to happen. No one knows what will happen.”

He finally turns to the woman in white, when the girl has been loaded in, the doors closed and the ambulance pulls out into the street. “She was my first. I should have known. I know people, I thought I knew love.” He cries. The crowd begins to taper off, and the streets are filled with a noise that can only be life, the world breathing again.

The house is dark, its image mimicking the night sky. “If she is not dying, what are you doing here? Death doesn’t just happen upon things like this.” He asks. The woman in white, Death, smiles. “I am here because someone needed to put you at ease. The fact of the matter is that you are new to this my dear Cupid. You are still learning, like meeting that young girl on that fateful day and pairing her with that boy you thought would match her, both of them so young, both of them still learning.” She places her hand on his shoulder and sighs. She looks to the night sky, and then to a watch on her wrist. “It is time,” she says, tapping her finger on the face of the watch.

“What should I do now?” he asks Death.

She smiles and turns away fades into the night.

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