The Man Running Toward Me Is Not A Man, He Is A Boy. A Shaggy-haired Boy With A Crease Between His Eyebrows. Will. Dull-eyed And Mindless, But Still Will. He Stops Running And Mirrors Me, His Feet Planted And His Gun Up. In An Instant, I See His Finger Poised Over The Trigger And Hear The Bullet Slide Into The Chamber, And I Fire. My Eyes Squeezed Shut. Can't Breathe. The Bullet Hit Him In The Head. I Know Because That's Where I Aimed It.
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The Man Running Toward Me Is Not
Veronica Roth
The Man Running Toward Me Is Not A Man, He Is A Boy. A Shaggy-haired Boy With A Crease Between His Eyebrows. Will. Dull-eyed And Mindless, But Still Will. He Stops Running And Mirrors Me, His Feet Planted And His Gun Up. In An Instant, I See His Finger Poised Over The Trigger And Hear The Bullet Slide Into The Chamber, And I Fire. My Eyes Squeezed Shut. Can't Breathe. The Bullet Hit Him In The Head. I Know Because That's Where I Aimed It.
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