A scene of brutality unfolded before me, and I did not flinch; I laughed. Without any hesitation, as the four poor, ghetto, stupid gang members moved toward me, I pulled my Desert Eagle (IMI, hard to get) out. Their faces changed, from wolves descending upon a helpless lamb, to a sort of sick fear. Knives that had seemed enough to take what they wanted were worth nothing now, less than nothing, were negatively charged, something that sapped these stupid fucks' life force. Time slowed, and I could feel the grooves and grip on the gun in my hand, and began to shoot, each peal of laughter taking a century, the gun dealing out death with each thunderous roar that stretched to infinity. The recoil took hours to reach my shoulder as I targeted each head, a delighted, maniacal grin etched into my face like a titanic, ancient statue beckoning with a grin above the gates of hell. The flash from the shots sent lightning flickers across my vision, and I realized that this scene must already be over, I can shoot better than this, and I felt a shoot of panic spasm through my heart: was I trapped in limbo? Was this play destined to stretch off forever, endless, scene repeat, a skipping record, will somebody please change the fucking CD, I am too high on LSD to move? I watched a single drop of blood drift toward me, seeing in the background, first one dead gangbanger, then three, then all four, then back to the first one, the bullet traveling through the air toward his pock-marked, yellow-toothed, terror-stricken untermenschen face, the bullet smashed in through his nose, rupturing the flesh, and blood gouted out, and the bullet continued onward, inward, sawing through the gangbanger's facial bones, tearing into the cavity where his brain was, and his brain exploded around the bullet, spraying, turning to jelly, and then something similar happened to the third, smash cut to the second, repeating, repeating. Through it all the single drop of blood drifts toward me serenely, unaffected by the carnage behind it, I see my reflection in the single drop, and my face is grinning, with streaming, too-wide eyes. The drop drifts closer, becomes a mirror as three of the four are dead, then one, then two, three again, three dead and alive simultaneously, their bodies are alive and dead and transparent, vibrating. The drop is large enough to consume me, then splashes, infinitesimal, on my cheek, and I'm standing in the middle of the three corpses, screaming laughter at the sky as the fourth gang member tries to crawl away from me. I skip forward and stomp on his head twice, then follow with two bullets. I am a banner of hatred, raised high for all to see.