“This was my favorite,” he said into the silence. 
      I was still reeling from the picture flashing sat me from his computer screen.  I could see the hole where the bullet had entered the man’s Adam’s apple.  It must have traveled up the curve of the skull before exploding out of the man’s head because brains trailed a couple feet, carried by the impact of the shot.  The body looked broken, its legs angled unnaturally, uncomfortably, one arm flopped over the man’s chest, the other splayed to the side.  The eyes looked lifelessly toward the open, still blue sky while vibrant shades of red splattered the man’s clothes. 
     Was this really the same guy who told me he needed therapy in the middle of a conversation about the latest Shinedown album? Clearly he was right, but by the looks of it, he asserting his manhood and refusing to let humanity show.  She looked up at him and wondered why she was sitting there.  Standing up, she turned to leave.