Cold air creeped into the room through the small space from the almost closed door. Grant stood shivering in the face of danger as he pondered in exactly which moment his life would flash before his eyes. He never imagined he would ever be in such a predicament as this. How often does it happen that a deer turns the tables against a lion? The ecology in this whole moment was obscene, she was supposed to be the prey.
"You my friend, find yourself at the mercy of a loaded weapon."
Her gaze was constant, without stutter. Compassion had been chased away and all her eyes projected was conviction. Conviction of a murderous kind.
"Please, I beg of you. Let me live," he said as tears began to form the facial waterfall from which he showed his helplessness. He in turn hoped she would show him sympathy, but such words seemed like fallacies – truths in which error had found a place to reside.
