The tick of the trigger mimicked the tick of a clock.
For a moment, I was frozen in place; transfixed, mortified, perplexed. I couldn’t hear anything expect for the redundant echo of the click of the trigger, as cacophonous as it would’ve been had the gun actually went off. I felt my livelihood secrete from my body all at once, gathering in a nonexistent puddle around my feet.
My head swam, my mindfulness drained and complete numbness replacing it just as fast. There was a brief stillness, everything seeming to slow to a complete stop. My eye still remained pressed against the scope, my finger resting on the trigger. There was no smoke from the barrel. Was the gun jammed?
As though I was taking my sweet time reloading like this was nothing but a class of shooting practice, I slowly lowe
