I looked at him and he looked at me. What kind of luck had I just gotten? He was walking out his apartment the minute I pull up.

He stared at me for a hot second, then bolted. I chased after him, sprinting faster than I ever have. I used all my track star energy and pushed myself harder. My legs were crying out in pain and my feet were already burning, but I knew I couldn’t stop.

I pushed my hands off of the rails of the apartment and lunged further. This was it. This was my moment.

“Get back here!” I called, enraged and fueled by adrenaline. Kicking off the ground, I lunged for him, but I missed and scraped my knees, falling to the ground. I shook my head and stood back up, continuing my pursuit.

Now I was on my final bit of energy, pushing myself harder, my boundaries being broken. I could feel as every bit of energy dispersed and faded, but the guy only got further.

Then I remembered: David’s gun.

Still running, I brought the small pistol out, aiming clumsily, but accurately. He was in my cross-hairs now, and his time was cut.

I took the shot, and his body fell.

Limping, I approached him.

“Gotcha,” I spoke slowly, looking up and panting.

“I…hate you,” he responded. I had only shot his leg, but everyone knows even one bullet can cause the worst of punishments.

“Yeah. I really hate you too.”