By the time Carl heard the sound, it was already too late.
By the time he turned, it was to ride the momentum of a buckshot.
By the time he processed what had happened, it was his final thought.
There is a saying: If you heard the gun shot, it means you are still alive.
Carl heard a sound the same moment the projectile tore into his head. Whether it was the gun or his head exploding is another matter. Blood and brain matter sprayed in different directions, even as the force of pellets travelling at 1,500 fps lifted him clean off his feet. By the time he landed, there was no need for a medical examination to confirm him dead.
A switch came on, banishing the darkness that held sway a nanosecond earlier.
With illumination came recognition.
A strangled cry escaped from the lips of the house owner.
Robbers had been terrorising the neighbourhood in recent times. The community watch formed to combat the menace proved useless. Most persons resorted to securing their property themselves.
It was the noise from the den that woke him. He checked his missus. She lay in her part of the bed; slight snore indicator he'd not woken her.
There were only both of them home. They had no helps and no tenants. Their son was in school. He was not expected home for the holidays till the weekend.
He took his shotgun and walked quietly into the room. There was a figure by the refrigerator. He aimed and pulled the trigger . Then he flicked on the light switch.
Two things registered: the cardboard strip stuck on the fridge with the inscription, Surprise! I'm back. And, he'd just killed Carlos junior.
The gun clattered to the floor.
Image from artstation.com
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