Trigger Finger
The desert sun beats down on the red sand. The ripples in the sand become more frequent and wider as the wind blows. The sound of a round of bullets being released from a chamber is the only noise. She feels as small as the grains of sand that surrounds her small knees. She is from a land of tall buildings, constant noises, and guns that are only used to kill people. But, she takes a deep breath, looks through the small scope of the light .22, focuses on the beer bottle, and pushes her cold pointer finger on the black thin trigger.
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