I’d never held a gun before. Its weight was new to me, slightly heavy but with a balance that made it easy for my small, delicate hands to hold and keep upright. I didn’t even know what caliber it was. All I knew was that, despite its small size, it was a lethal object that had the power to look someone right in the eye and pass judgment on whether they should live or die. Now, I’d never killed anyone before so you can imagine how the mixture of adrenaline and fear felt as it coursed through my veins, making my heart beat at what seemed like a thousand beats per minute. But I knew I had to do it. I had to kill him. If not for me, then for her.
“Please. Don’t do this, Isabel,” he said, looking up at me with terrified eyes as he lowered himself to his knees. “I’m begging you.”
Did she beg you? I thought, feeling hatred rise up into my chest, burning like acid in my heart.
He looked pathetic. Even as old as he was, he was near tears, his lower lip trembling and his hands poised in a prayer-like position, as if I were God and he was praying to me for mercy. And he was sweating rivers, an obvious sign of his fear. I felt no pity for him though. Not one bit. He’d done what he’d done and now he deserved to die for it. Cause and effect. Yet, this would be a harder decision to make than any other I’ve been faced with. I was conflicted, yes, but I also remembered what had made me feel the need to make him pay and the choice was made.
I said nothing as I put the muzzle of the gun to his temple, watching his eyes squeeze shut, crinkled at the corners as the tears began to make their way past his closed eyelids and onto his whimpering face. He was sobbing.
“Oh God. Oh God,” he mumbled, over and over as the time went by. I wanted him to feel the gun to his head for a good amount of time before I pulled the trigger. In the movies, the vigilante would respond to his pleas with a laugh and some bitter cliché like, “God isn’t here right now” or “God can’t help you.” I’d imagined myself saying something like that but when it came to the time, I said only one, short reply.
“I’m sorry.”
The trigger was easy to pull and it was all over before I could even breathe his name.
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
I absolutely love how you draw the reader in from the very first sentence. You've really made this scene tense without being excessively dramatic.
Just a couple things I noticed:
This sentence is a little awkward, addressing the reader ("you can imagine") directly. I'd suggest being consistent with the rest of this piece and avoid addressing anything to an external person. That way we stay in the main character's mind and it doesn't feel so much like they're telling a story for an audience.
Honestly, this is your prologue, so it's totally up to you. However, I think that you might not want to give away the fact that she killed him in the prologue. Especially if this story is going to explore the background behind this scene and this is going to be either the climax or near the end of the story. It gives a bit too much away.
Can't wait to read more!