3WW CCLXI "Another Thursday Night in the 'Burbs"

The words over at Three Word Wednesday are eject, impact and render.

Another Thursday Night in the ‘Burbs
She heard the impact before she felt it, which seemed odd to her, since what she really expected was something close to synchronicity. This was just…off.

The sensation was all searing heat at first. Like being touched with a hot poker. She laughed at the thought. A hot poker. Who the fuck knows what it feels like to be poked by a poker, anyway?

The tearing of flesh, that was interesting. Nobody ever said anything about that. That she could feel the muscle fibers actually split and splinter, well, that was something.

She’d expected a gushing of blood, too, believing what she had seen in movies and on television. But for a time, the hole just sort of wept. She put a tentative finger in it, felt the slickness. It…tickled.

She hung her mouth open to speak, but the thought of laughing rendered her speechless.

“Well?”

He stood eight feet back on the carpet. He was still in that silly stance, feet wide apart and in something of a crouch. She was sure he’d copied it from a movie or television.

“So?”

He ejected a cartridge from her father’s .22-caliber target pistol, dug into his jeans for a fresh bullet and seated it.

“Hello, inquiring minds?”

She looked at him, tried to focus on his lips, what he was saying.

“I guess this is, like shock,” she said. “It hurts, now. But it didn’t at first.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, really. Just heat, then this weird ripping. If you don’t believe me, gimme the gun.”

“Not in the gut,” he said. “You know what they say about shots in the gut.”

“What?”

“That it’s bad.”

She giggled, took the handgun. Felt its heft.

She took eight paces back and turned toward him. She mimicked his stupid stance, but held the pistol like her father had taught her. She stuck a tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she took aim.

“You’d better hurry up,” he said. “I already called 911.”