Public Key:1BayerNGeyWgdjq5DruQ4Mo5LoR1nHvxNE SHA-256:e2faa8af1f2de6629e31d6b433cb8c40f96cb8800c877dfa0f761508ae8443db File:blog/target-practice-6536e36b2a35.txt Signature:G3vIH9Ga+zV8jlym7HFOFdY6oSH1nlw2YgHv6wDob4IXdRKG4/+QYn+4J+hUB+wH0KRuPaZ0te5qweSEH7X0ELE=
The handgun felt heavy, but was easy to hold. It was solid metal, cold, and dark.
I inspected the gun for safety. The clip was inserted properly, there were not any worrying scratches or damage, it was good.
I aimed the gun at the target poster, a generic body silhouette with a red oval in the center of the chest and lines in orderly distances around it. I turned the safety off.
I shot my first shot, a single loud bang, followed by a minimal echo. I hit the upper left part of number seven, not bad for my first, usually I miss the body and just hit the white part of the poster.
I shot again, an eight this time, but to the upper-right.
Another shot, hit on the red, and another, and another directly to the torso.
I focused more. I adjusted right a small bit, directly to the heart, and another, and another, and another.
I aimed up, I hit the upper neck, then the forehead, then directly on the face.
I shot again, directly to the face. The sound started to numb. I shot again, and again both to the head. Anger brewed within me.
I shot another time, straight on the bridge of the nose.
I had one bullet left, I stopped, and leaned against the wall in front of me. I breathed, and cried.
I put the gun to the underside of my head, and hovered over the trigger. I felt I was a failure. I felt hopeless.
I pulled the trigger. I didn't even hear the gunshot.