A winner on either side,
both with full magazines of cold, hard steel,
they stare each other down.

They fire, sometimes hitting their opponent,
sometimes wide of the mark.

When the ammunition is exhausted,
they turn to me.

I fill my lungs, exhale slowly,
rising to my feet.
Lifting my hands,
I heavily shake my head,
rotate toward the door
and begin to walk away.

I never hear the shots
that pierce my back.