An excerpt from the novel I'm not writing:
When you kill someone it should be quick and they never know it's coming. One instant they are alive and the next they are dead and there is nothing in between. Maybe I believe this because I care or maybe because that's how I want it to happen to me. We stood just inside the thick woods and talked and joked and I waited. A truck thundered by on the black asphat and rain drenched highway a quarter mile away and I shot Michael Crispin. He was alive and then he was dead and nothing in between.