He found the dead man at two. It was not too far past that point in time. He picked up the gun when he found it in shock and looked down the street for the perp. The ones who found the scene at the time he spent in vain for a man who killed this poor soul. Two men that were not here now, though one stared at Joe with no life in his gaze.
Those who found the poor soul in that time then found Joe with the gun. They took two and two and moved at Joe with hate in their gaze.
"I did not kill that man!" Joe yelled, but to no use. The crowd pushed through, aim on the false perp. Joe freaked out. What else could he do? Go back a piece of time, and all was right. Now all was wrong. And it would not be fixed with the gun in his hand.
He could not piece a plan in his mind, for the crowd lunged for him, all at once like a large cat on its prey. Joe dodged with a yelp, with one more cry of "I did not kill that man! I would not do such a thing!" With a gun in his hand and a torn, dead soul at his feet, though, he did not sway the mob. With a rough scream, he ran down the road, blood tracked in his shoes to make a trail where he fled.
He turned to his first right and threw off his shoes, mad that such high priced shoes were now not his, but with things of large need to work at. Such as to run. The crowd found him at the rear of a trash can and came at him with a thirst for blood. A thirst Joe would give them.
In fright, he tossed a shoe at them, blood flung through the air with it. The crowd gasped, and one poor girl had to brush the stuff out of her hair as she shrieked in rage. But the crowd was not calm, and they would not leave him be.
Joe was on his last strand of all that was sane, and as the crowd cried out its hate and wrong thoughts, that strand was frayed. He pressed the gun so that it sprayed shots at the mob.
The screams of rage were stopped and in its place shrieks of fear, which died out as Joe shot and shot and shot at the group, no longer sane. The mob made noises that would cause one to be sick as they fell to the ground, holes in their frames and a large pool of blood at their feet.
In shock at what he had just done, Joe screamed. All was so right with this not in his life, but this dead man he had not once seen and this gun he had not once held and this mob he had not once had a need to chase him... All of this was thrust on him and not a thing would ever be the same. How could he go to his wife, his kids with a large pile of dead men and girls on his damned soul?
He knew he could not.
He knew things would not be good again for as long as he lived.
There was one thing left to do.
He turned the large state of the art gun that caused him so much strife out of the blue to his own head. He had just a bit of time to see his blood paint the walls and feel his soul join those he had damned- and then all was black.
So, was that all one syllable, Red?
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Made by LordFalcon 
. Now I challenge you to write a story not using the Letter A in any word. Good Luck Noob loolol
! I like how you suceed the challenge with a great story. 9.75/10 
He write more than one story per day 
