Regret On The Cold Concrete.

Regret On The Cold Concrete. Oh, Salazar, how did we end up like this? You with your mangled face and bullet riddled body and I with three bullets in my belly. I’m on deaths waiting list, I’m teetering on the brink. You are cold and gone, hunched on the concrete in a pool of blood.

How the hell did this happen? Why the hell did it happen? I’m so delirious from losing blood that I’ve forgotten the name of my gang, how ironic is that. And you’re dead, memory is beyond you now. Your partners ran, my partners ran, left us behind to die on the concrete. Although I’m sure you were dead before you hit the ground.

I hear an odd gurgling noise coming from my stomach. Perhaps it is a bullet still bouncing around. I hope it hits something important soon, I’m in immense pain. I’m going to die tonight, there’s no two ways about it. I’m going to die next to the corpse of a man whom I hardly knew, but despised because of street names and gang colors.

I wonder what went through your mind before you died, Salazar, Was it anger or regret? Most likely anger, you went too fast to feel regret, you got lucky. I won’t lie, I was sort of amazed with the way you stood and took those bullets. It must’ve been about 25 of them that went through you.

Were you a good father before you died? I wasn’t, I was hardly there. My babies will have no memories of me. Nobody will, you and I will become another statistic. Our women will find new men. Our partners will eventually grow up. The world will continue without us. I’m out of words and out of breath now, I think I hear death whispering in my ear, it has nothing kind to say.