[He balls his right hand into a fist and kneads it against his forehead, as if that can help him will the thoughts away. They're unacceptable. But they linger, even though they don't make any sense. They're just shards, pieces of what used to be, or what still is, buried somewhere.]
You're my target...
[They used to play chess with the remains of a set they found in the ruins of a house in Poland. They substituted missing pieces with bullets and sticks and shrapnel.]
Stop...
[One summer they sold papers and each took their own corner. He always sold more, but he'd dump most of his money into Steve's bag when he wasn't looking.]
Stop talking!
[In a swift, angry movement, he sheaths his knife and pulls out a gun, points it right at Steve's... his target's head. Finger on the trigger. One shot. One shot. But his vision is blurry. He's been compromised.]
no subject
You're my target...
[They used to play chess with the remains of a set they found in the ruins of a house in Poland. They substituted missing pieces with bullets and sticks and shrapnel.]
Stop...
[One summer they sold papers and each took their own corner. He always sold more, but he'd dump most of his money into Steve's bag when he wasn't looking.]
Stop talking!
[In a swift, angry movement, he sheaths his knife and pulls out a gun, points it right at Steve's... his target's head. Finger on the trigger. One shot. One shot. But his vision is blurry. He's been compromised.]