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Smell of Smoke
A single bead of sweat
falls down my forehead.
Eyes are clenched in fear
for there is a small
metal muzzle pressed
gingerly, almost lovingly
against my temple.
Teeth begin to grit
against one another
then all is calm.
Sound stops, the face relaxes
hands go limp,
no longer afraid.
My eyes open and I look
at the holder of then gun.
No face,
no expressions,
just the smell of gun powder.
