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Description
The Angels Come Screaming
The bullet shot through my flesh and embedded itself into my heart. Ashton, the one I loved, held the gun, tears streaming down his pale face. His eyes were empty, no emotion showing in their depths, yet his face was contorted in what could’ve only been agony. The pain from the mortal wound in my chest was just beginning to register in my brain: I was still befuddled over why he, the one I thought to have loved me, had pulled the trigger.

Then my chest was on fire.

A scream ripped from my throat as I shuddered to my knees. The gun dropped to Ashton’s feet as he turned away, sobs seeming to rock his body. I closed my eyes and lurched forward, hitting the floor. My unknowing heart pumped more and more blood out of the gaping hole in my chest. The last thing I heard was another gunshot, before I lost complete consciousness.

My eyes flittered open. I was floating in complete bliss. My chest no longer ached, and I found I could breath easily. A sudden, glowing light caused me to squint. Ashton- my angel, my lover, my killer- was waiting for me, his arms spread wide open. I tried to hurry to him, but floating seemed to have only one speed. But I needn’t rush. I had all the time in the world.

But, as I rushed to him, something seemed wrong. Oh, so very wrong. Ashton’s voice was twisted in rage. He grabbed my neck and squeezed, but not so hard to where I couldn’t breathe. His expression softened. He pressed his other hand to my chest, to where the bullet had pierced me. A sudden burning spread throughout my body. Ashton’s mouth opened in a scream.

I jerked awake. Doctors swarmed around me, yelling things at each other that I could not comprehend. None of them seemed to notice I had aroused. I turned my head to the side, the only thing on my cloudy mind was finding the one I loved. Then I saw him. He was on a gurney not to far from me, his hand drooping over the side of it limply. I dimly wondered in protest why not one doctor was tending to him. I soon realized why. A thin, white cloth had been laid over his body, but not it had quite covered his head. A large, bloody bullet wound created a large hole on the side of his head. He did not move.

Ashton-my lover, my angel, my killer- was dead.

Description
The Angels Come Screaming
The bullet shot through my flesh and embedded itself into my heart. Ashton, the one I loved, held the gun, tears streaming down his pale face. His eyes were empty, no emotion showing in their depths, yet his face was contorted in what could’ve only been agony. The pain from the mortal wound in my chest was just beginning to register in my brain: I was still befuddled over why he, the one I thought to have loved me, had pulled the trigger.

Then my chest was on fire.

A scream ripped from my throat as I shuddered to my knees. The gun dropped to Ashton’s feet as he turned away, sobs seeming to rock his body. I closed my eyes and lurched forward, hitting the floor. My unknowing heart pumped more and more blood out of the gaping hole in my chest. The last thing I heard was another gunshot, before I lost complete consciousness.

My eyes flittered open. I was floating in complete bliss. My chest no longer ached, and I found I could breath easily. A sudden, glowing light caused me to squint. Ashton- my angel, my lover, my killer- was waiting for me, his arms spread wide open. I tried to hurry to him, but floating seemed to have only one speed. But I needn’t rush. I had all the time in the world.

But, as I rushed to him, something seemed wrong. Oh, so very wrong. Ashton’s voice was twisted in rage. He grabbed my neck and squeezed, but not so hard to where I couldn’t breathe. His expression softened. He pressed his other hand to my chest, to where the bullet had pierced me. A sudden burning spread throughout my body. Ashton’s mouth opened in a scream.

I jerked awake. Doctors swarmed around me, yelling things at each other that I could not comprehend. None of them seemed to notice I had aroused. I turned my head to the side, the only thing on my cloudy mind was finding the one I loved. Then I saw him. He was on a gurney not to far from me, his hand drooping over the side of it limply. I dimly wondered in protest why not one doctor was tending to him. I soon realized why. A thin, white cloth had been laid over his body, but not it had quite covered his head. A large, bloody bullet wound created a large hole on the side of his head. He did not move.

Ashton-my lover, my angel, my killer- was dead.