It came in as a flood—suddenly, violently, overwhelming.

It broke through walls, barriers, and even the mind itself.

It defied the very means of an already decaying life
and lifted it so high it thought it could live once again.

But floods are like that—unexpected, extremely dangerous.

More importantly, they don’t build; they destroy.

And this one, in particular, didn’t leave as it came—
it stayed longer than it should.

Or so it seemed,
because she left as the night runs from the morning:
slowly, but unnoticed.

Yet by morning, the flood was gone—
but the aftermath remained.

Laughing while bleeding, stood tall the silhouette in the darkness of the night.

One hand trying worthlessly to keep the blood inside his body, one hand holding a rotten and heavy heart.

What's there to do now? He asked himself, confused, between laughter and gasps.

No horse, no money, no home to return to, just the sound of the blissful scoundrels fleeing.

No need to worry, there's still one bullet left in the barrel.