Shooting

I shot 60 bullets today. 30 to the head, 10 to the heart, 10 to the stomach, five to the knees and five to the crotch. I didn't miss one bullet. Not only did my shooting instructor almost flee in terror, but he took various steps away from me. When I changed the shooting target I violently threw it towards the floor and replaced it with a new one. It was only then that I realized I was out of bullets.

"Miss Piucelli, I think that is enough."

Who needs arrows when you have guns?

"Can't I buy more?"

"Of course... you can, Miss Piucelli, but that is not reccommendable at this point. You have already exhausted yourself thoroughly without a doubt?"

I quirked an eyebrow.

"I'll get you more immediately." He gulped

10 minutes later he was back with the most experienced instructor and a box of fresh new bullets. I helped myself to the whole box, practicing with movement, different positions...

"Miss Piucelli..." the instructor stopped me after I was done (the older one that is). "Have you ever considered joining the SWAT?" He was only half joking.

I gawked. "Umm.... no. Never! I don't like any of those things! I mean, it's a grand ideal! But me? I just like designing clothing! Really."

He stared at me. Looked at how I held the gun, then at my face again. "It doesn't seem to me like you don't like any of these things..."

I let go of the gun. "Please excuse me." I was back to a more serious kind of work and I needed my skills polished. Can't a girl practice without being molested? So I was good with a gun. I had my ways with weapons.

As I moved to the car, my mobile phone started vibrating. I took it out of my purse nonchalantly and pressed it to my ear. "Yes?"

Shit.