“Unless I find a law against this, I should help it.” She pointed her gun forward. The rat moved before she could even fire.
LaMesha exhaled from her nose at its sudden movement. She shot at it with rapid fire—the rat dodged the laser effortlessly, climbed up poles, jumped from building to building, and hid somewhere in the trees; only a few laser shots got near it, but it never hit. LaMesha shot at the rodent a dozen times, then it hid in the trees—she missed each shot—what ended the fire was the sizzling of her gun as it jammed. Incompetence pinched through LaMesha’s forehead. She lowered her eyes and put the warm revolver in its holster.
“Eeeeee! That was so cool! Maybe next time you’ll get it,” a shrilled voice announced from behind.
LaMesha knew this voice and wished she was anywhere else at the moment. She began to walk away and pretended not to listen; the footsteps behind her progressively got louder as they inched closer—LaMesha proceeded to walk faster—but the girl behind her called out louder: and LaMesha received a headache from it as her brain throbbed. She gave up, turned around, and begrudgingly greeted her.
