I watched Miguel's body collapse to the floor like an inanimate object, the gunshot still echoing loudly in my ears. Horror-struck, my eyes widened. I tossed my head in the old man's direction. "What did you do? You shot Miguel!" I snapped.
The old man raised his gun and blew at the emanating smoke. "I heard from your friend that Miguel is a cat. I ain't seen no cat; so I fired. But it doesn't matter nonetheless," he leaned in, "rubber bullets."
Miguel had gotten shot in his left thigh. He laid supine upon the floor, elevating the wound and groaning relentlessly in agony. I couldn't just watch him there. I jolted. And then I proceeded to move toward him. Though, as soon as I took as much as a single step forward, I heard a clicking gun.
I looked up at the old man, who now held his gun in front of him, aiming at me. I paused, scared out of my mind. I clenched my teeth. "He's still losing blood."
