The Hitman

The Hitman His blood runs cold as he walks through the fire. But he knows it’s not a game, he’s just a gun for hire. Watching every move like a black widow spider. He knows he’ll never be the man he was before. He throws back a shot as he waits for his mark. He’s been to the edge and he knows the score, maybe this time it’ll be the end, but tomorrow there’s always just one more. With only a picture and only a name, and cold blue steel as his tools of the game. He’ll hunt you down and it’s not for the fame, It doesn’t come easy, but the money’s all the same. Not wanting to know the reason why. It all comes down to money on the line. With a glint of steel from a Colt .45, all hell breaks loose in the blink of an eye. Bullets come fast as bodies hit the floor. But his aim is true as the trigger is pulled, and he adds to his list of just one more. He never bats an eye as he walks out the door, no one knows why, but they’ve seen it before. Memories are lost, the moment is gone. No one seen anything is the way it’s got to be. To stay alive here is to never play along. V.M. Tackett