I stepped back a pace, feeling pressure at my chest, hearing the wind go out of my lungs in a gasp. I smelled cordite, and saw a whiff of gray smoke pulled away from the barrell, into the night air. My hand flew to my chest. Right under the sternum, there was a warm, sticky wetness. It didn't register to me I had been shot until, as if through water, someone said, "Bloody hell, and Holy Peter, the damned spook just doesn't DIE, does he?!" I heard another whip-crack back, and another pressure at my chest, and now I felt it. It felt as if my ribs were shattered, and my lung punctured, and white-hot pain, tearing through my chest. I staggered back again, my back thumping against the wall. I couldn't breathe. I gasped, my head hanging, one hand propped against my knee, as if I had been given nothing more than a rude uppercut, and was going to recover in no more than a moment. My other hand was at my chest, pressed against the two wounds there, that was making me feel sick from pain to touch, but I couldn't let go. I felt my knees give way, and I collapsed forward, the hand that had been on my knee striking the cobbles through reflex, the other still pressed to my chest.

I heard running feet, mercifully going away, a scattering of scared, frantic voices.

I felt myself falling on my side.

My teeth were clenched, and I felt the urge to cough, for there had been an unbearable pressure at my lungs wailing to be released, and I complied. I tasted the coppery taste of blood in my mouth, and heard small droplets hitting the cold street. I rolled onto my front, and pushed myself so I was supported by my arms. I coughed again, and this time felt a greater rush of blood, and more drops hitting the cobbles. I felt a whirl in my head, and drooped, sitting back against the wall. There had been one exit wound, and the other had quarrelsomely lodged itself into my ribs. One bleeding out through the front, the other the back. I knew both were fatal. I put my head back, against the wall. Putting one hand feebly against against my chest, I heaved a sigh, and swallowed reflexively again. It is a strange thing when you feel your body doing things you never told it to do, and especially when youre dying. And I knew I was. I heaved a sigh, and closed my eyes.

I heard some more shouting, but nothing ironic came to my mind, so I knew I already must have been slipping. I heard running steps coming closer, and then pausing beside me. I heard someone else's breath. My eyes lolled open of their own accord. Honestly, all I wanted to do was lay down and die, but some stubborn part of me just wouldn't let nature rip the last breath out of me.

Just one word, one small word. Denial. "No....." Breathed on the night air, and taken to flight just as quickly.

A familiar face. Good, I wasn't to die alone. But in a part of me, I wish I had. It would spare him the pain of watching me expire slowly on the blood soaked cobbles.