I take a step forward.
A bullet enters my right shoulder, piercing my flesh and splitting my bone.
I take another step.
This time, another bullet pierces my leg, the resulting force pushing it back and then forward as the bullet exits. I almost stumble, but don’t, putting my foot on the ground to take another step.
The gun, an illegally acquired M134 Minigun, sits about 3 metres from my current position. The person firing it scared; scared that I might uncover this entire drug smuggling operation forcing him to face jail – or worse – death. I take another step closer, every bullet causing a surge through my body. The man desperately trying to kill me does not understand how I am still moving; I can see it in his eyes, confusion and fear.
I take another step once more, each subsequent step becoming more and more solid – I become invigorated as the sounds of bullets echo in my mind. One more step, and I will be face to face with my attacker.
I stop and reach out my hand. I give the man a small tap on his shoulder. His shoulder explodes, his arm thrown across the room.
He falls to the ground, screaming, his blood soaking the soles of my shoes. He keeps yelling, gripping at where his arm was to stop the rushing of blood. He’s crying for his mother.
Another man, having heard the commotion, bursts through a door and raises his gun to my head. He pauses, his eyes widen, and he pays witnesses to a miracle. The bullets that once filled my body were now making their way out, they were being forced out as bone reinforced itself and flesh stitched back together. In his surprise, the man lowers his gun. Not long now.
I step forward, squeeze one of my hands and cause the bullet once embedded in my shoulder to shoot out, splitting through his skull and signifying the end of his mortal coil.
I am a god, and this is my story.