The rain poured down from the sky, the clouds blocking the lovely stars and moon. It was as if the sky was crying too.
He didn't understand. Why? Why his best friend?
He sobbed into the crook of his best friend's neck, holding his limp body in his arms. The blood of his friend stained his hand, which had attempted to stop the bleeding.
He looked up at the heavens and screamed in agony, "WHY?!"
He continued to sob, holding his best friend close as he wept. His best friend was gone. Why? Why?!
"It should've been me..." he muttered, squeezing the corpse of his one and only friend.
He gazed at the weapon that had been used against his best friend: a 42 caliber pistol. He was going to kill the man who murdered his best friend.
He picked up the pistol and held it firmly in his hand. He glared at it, then snarled, "I'm coming for you, brother."