It’s cold.

  It’s cold and dark and wet.

  Heat seeps out from his chest, and he looks up, black eyes bleary.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Red flits past his face.

  He can taste it in the back of his mouth.

  The light above him becomes less and less clear, and he weakly reaches an arm out, hand outstretched to a vehicle that he knows is getting further and further away with every second he’s here.

  There’s muffled sounds above him, the light above him flaring red, but he doesn’t care.

  All he can find in himself is to utter one single name.

  The gun that fired the round, directly into his heart, splitting him in two.

  “...Jikan…”

  And he sinks, slipping into the sand of his memories.