Two shots in her chest and she fell on her back. I looked at her. Her blouse was half open, blood trickled down onto the carpet. Did she have to spoil the carpet with her death? I said loudly.
I looked at her in disgust, put my pistol back into my jacket and kicked her hard.
“Shit!” she shouted getting up. “Cut!” The director’s voice cursed loudly. “What the…”
“He kicked hard” she cut him short.
“I don’t care who kicked who. We start from the top” he said. Make up!” his shout echoed. I gave her an angry look.
(for the friday fictioneers)