Summary: I held the gun straight out in front of me, pointed at him. My hand was held tightly over it, my hand was clammy and I didn't want to lose my grip. This has never happened before. I never once felt like this before a kill, but then again I never had to kill someone I loved. I slid my finger over the trigger, it used to be comforting, knowing I was about to kill, but now it made me break out in a cold panicky sweat. He turned around and stared down the barrel of the gun. I drew in a sharp breath and swallowed back vomit. I felt my stomach twist. I couldn't do this. He looked into my eyes, my mouth went dry. He shook his head, his eyes pleading. I used to grow strong at that look, used to crave for it. I used to enjoy the thrill of a kill. That was before I was sent out to destroy my loved ones. I felt sick. I knew I had changed a lot since all this crap had started. Now I was being sent on a mission that was sending my emotions into roller coaster mode. What a joy. If I had to do this in order to save myself, it so wasn't worth saving myself. I swallowed another vile of vomit. I lowered the gun, pointing the barrel at my stomach. I stepped back, into the shadows, and held the trigger. I tightened my grip.I wanted to pull the trigger, but I didn't have the guts to. I used to have the guts, when this was what I lived for.