He grips the gun tight

He grips the gun tight, the blood in his knuckles dissipate as they turn white. Retaliation is a prerequisite for being a gangster, and everyone around her indulges in it. You take my brother's life? I take your life. You steal from me? I steal from you. An eye for an eye, a gun for a gun, and here we go, exchanging blood for blood. He grips the gun tight, he is high as hell but the anxiety rises like a tidal wave, crashing deep into his conscience.

Can I do it? Can I really take this man's life?

His adrenaline rushes as he explodes off the couch, his carelessness knocking over the scuffed up coffee table. Beer cans fall to the floor but he does not even notice. He grips the gun tight, his finger never leaving the trigger. He burst through the front door into the sunlight, the warmth feels different today. He smells the city and hears all it's noises, his senses highlighting the world around him.

He grips his gun tight as he gets into his car and slams his keys into the ignition with pinpoint precision. He forgets to turn the music on while his frantic mind settles in.

I am going to kill this man.

He grips the gun tight as he pulls up outside the house. He grits his teeth and wipes away a tear, then smiles while his adrenaline subsides. He is a true gangster, that is what they have always said and now, it was time to prove it.

He grips the gun tight, he rolls the window down slowly, and the bullets fly.

Down goes one, down goes two, down goes three.

An innocent child falls, a mother screams.

He grips the gun tight.

And for what?