Head of The Table

No one is spared

Clang! The cold metal case hit the large rusted blue crate, sore, dragging himself backwards shuffling he got his share of the transpired chaos, but he had it better than the other two. One lay there, unconscious, his face disfigured from launched raining fists, his skull had cracked and slight blood tinkled drop by drop, he had it worse than all them, the chaos came at him hard! The third, leaned back, nursing his not one but now two bullet wounds, one through his arm another below his gut near his left upper thigh. He was fading, he tried as he could but it was flowing, the second bullet cut through a vein, and boy! He the blood continuously flowed gulp by gulp. He kept pressure on it which reduced this critical condition temporarily, but the more blood kept coming out the lesser conscious he became and slowly his head lowered, his eyes fading, his breathing was reducing and with gravity, bam! He collapsed heavily on the brick floor, blood mapped from below, soaking his cotton clot