Death of the Rosebush

Idiot

   "Hello, Cleo," I crouched down next to the quivering boy.

   "How... How do you know my - " 

   "Oh don't be stupid. On your door it says 'Cleo's room' on your desk there's a notebook with the word 'cleo' on it. WITHOUT a capital letter," I smirked. "Also, there's an obvious name tag on your jacket - 'Cleo' As well as the fact that -"

   "Jasper!" cried GoergeWood. "He's only a child!"

   "I'm not a child! I watch viol-"

   "Shut up,"

   "Jasper!"

"GoergeWood!" a voice shot up the stairs. 

   "What?"

   "Look what we've found!"

   "Sorry, Jasper," GeorgeWood frantically opened the door and left.

   "Idiot." I whispered.

      Cleo backed up into the cupboard again, with an unsure look on his face. He obviously felt unsafe near me. 

   "Who, me?"

   "No,"

   "Oh, oka-"

   "Of course it's you! If you're going to murder your family be at least smart!"

   "Sorry, I don't unders-" he stopped, and smirked. Then I heard the sound I had been expecting. The cocking of a gun.

   "Oh don't be stup-" I turned, and saw a tall man dressed in all black, holding up a gun pointed at my forehead.

   "I'm going to blast out that brain from your stupid head! Your oversized head, ready for anything but a gun! You always stop at a gun, don't you!"

   "But not when I expect it,"

   "What do you - "

      I stood up, and improvised. The man was right. A gun cocked in my face was the only thing that could stop me. I raised my arm, and smacking against his neck. He was quick though, what you'd expect in an action film. Fired twice and made a mess in the wall. Footsteps coming upstairs. 

   "I can handle this!" I shouted at GeorgeWood, who had just poked his head round the door.

   Then I felt something steaming and freezing scrape past my face. Dark liquid dribbled down my neck. 

   "Guns are for cowards, did you know?"

   "Oh, really?" He threw down the gun onto the floor. Then I knew it. 

Right hand pointed to the ground. Left hand pointed to the ground. Right hand would probably punch me - 60% chance. Left hand would probably pick the gun up - 80%. Right hand punching me raised to 80%. Right hand would punch my wound on my cheek. Dodge it fairly easily and pick up the gun. Wrestle the gun out of his hand if necessary. Plan out next stage. 

Everything happened as I planned. In a few seconds he was the one with a gun pointed to his head. 

   "So without that brain you're useless. I see," He replied calmly. "But I guess your brain is too small to plan out what to do if this happened!" He took out another gun from his pocket.

   "First of all, how many guns do you have?! Second, I took out the ammo." I took out the ammo out of my pocket.