Drawing The Bullet by Phil Cummings

The Bullet

There was another sharp loud crack as the little flash of light winked from the gun. The interior of the car was filled with glass, blood, brains and skull as the bullet, meant for me, smashed through the windshield and hit Marsha right between the eyes. Her head exploded and she fell forward, the back of her skull an empty red hole surrounded with blood-soaked blonde hair. I was insane with rage! My foot stayed smashed down on the accelerator as we sped towards a head-on collision with the other car. I wanted to die but now I wanted to take them with me.