The pistol was cocked, ready to go. It was a bit overwhelming for me, having the power to just end a life. One pull of the trigger, and the poor sap in front of me had slipped from the mortal coil. Such great power.

The man in front of me slid down the wall, the blood trailing from the back of his head creating a noticable streak across the brickwork. Someone had to have noticed the noise, because sirens started blaring and spinning red lights activated.

I ran and jumped out of the window, crashing through the glass. I could do anything I wanted. This gun could give me anything. I could rob a bank, and become rich in minutes. I could walk into a football stadium and shoot down the players of the opposing team, giving my team a win by default. I could demand that the Prime Minister make me grand ruler of the kingdom by just walking in and pointing it at him.

In theory, of course. There's no way in hell I'm gonna get into 10 Downing Street waving a gun around.

I fell onto the roof of the car I had parked below, specifically to cushion my fall. I rolled off, and tore the door open. Clambering in, I failed to remember that I had a gun in my hand.

It went off, penetrating through the front of the car and - by freak accident - igniting the fuel tank.

Turns out that with great power comes great responsibility.

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James Vernon (joined about 9 years ago)
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"Hummingbird" James Vernon is a 16 year old A-Level student in England. He likes video games, tabletop games and making fun of things. In this way, he is much like the majority of the internet.

Unfortunately, like the majority of the internet, he isn't good at any of these either. However, he considers himself pretty good at writing.

And also at consistently using the third person. And also at thinking up terrible nicknames for himself.
And also at using the sentence beginning "And also."

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Story information

License

Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0

genres

thriller

tags

Death death murder power gun shooting greatness responsibilty criminal demanding

Prompt

The pistol was cocked, ready to go.
Prompt suggested by Gone Awry

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