He couldn’t do it.
For some reason, he couldn’t kill this one. He leaned in and stared at the eyes. He had never spent any time actually looking before. Sitting back on his heels, he felt the weight of the weapon in his hand.
He thought about the term “taking a life”. What was he taking? Ending a life. That’s what he was doing – what he had done countless times before. He would stop a heart. He would prevent any more air entering lungs. He would crush a body.
“Bloody hell, Carl! Haven’t you killed that damn spider yet?”
November 12 Prompt: Photobomb (Write a serious scene interrupted by something absurd)
Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch