Bloody hell! Where do I bloody start!?
Let’s see, I drove my unregistered car through a parking lot in the central city, and some nutburger rear-ended me! I got out, and here’s how the situation went down!
ME: What the bloody hells going on here!
THE OTHER GUY: Oh bloody hell! What did you do to my car! YOU CUNT
ME: Now now, lets just let the insurance agencies sort this o …
It was midway through this sentence that:
I coughed, and I tasted bitter bile on my tongue. My vision was blurry and I felt nauseous as I tried to regain focus.
I turned and sprinted toward my car. On the way I connected with the Touareg’s wing mirror, which snapped off. I crumpled into my car and flattened the accelerator, squealing out onto the street. I looked back through the rear view mirror at the rapidly disappearing view of my victim.
At home a freezing cold wind battered me as I slowly climbed out of my car. My shaking hands struggled to manipulate the door key in the required syle to necessitate the opening of the front security structure (I couldn’t open the door).
The rain outside was spitting harshly at my lounge window. The bitter chill of the room clung to my body. What had happened back there? It hadn’t even been my fault. But since I’d driven away, I’d be in trouble anyway. How would he find out who I am? My license plates. He would certainly have remembered those; he’d tell the police and they’ll find me within days. I could have sorted it out there but instead I just made it worse.
I slowly pulled the mechanism on the pistol back until it clicked, pointed it into my temple and pulled the trig
