Shadow Ballet- Betrayal

4

The night was foggy, and the raging wind howled in the dark forest. It was a green car among the fog, its headlights illuminating the trees around with a soft light despite the silver moon was more than enough.
The drunkard bum, one of the three men who had shot Jerry, was digging a pit. He murmured a song, shamelessly disturbing the tranquility of the quiet forest. Now and then, he looked at Jerry's corpse lying in blood.
“So, little Jerry?” he said, and then he took a sip of the whiskey bottle next to him. He heaved a sigh, looking at Jerry, and he kept digging. “It's the time, man! Sooner or later, what the hell's the difference? We all are gonna end up under the fucking ground, right?” He continued after he took another sip, “So, it is your turn! Let it go! Your dad was stiff-necked, too. Look what happened to him! Anyway, I neither liked him nor you!”
Drunkard sunk his shovel in the ground and took a sip of whiskey.  Then he pushed Jerry with his foot in the pit. “Huh!” He took the shovel and began to cover the corpse. A rat appeared on Jerry's body, running away madly from the pieces of soil the drunkard threw.
It was a moment when the drunkard heard a squeezing. He stopped and listened carefully.
Nothing.
He shrugged and kept shoveling. When he heard the squeezing sound again, he leaned his head over the pit, and a gunshot sounded in that moment. That was the sound of the bullet that Jerry sent right through his head. He blew drunkard's brains out. The blood spurted out on Jerry and the rat which was running between the soil.
Jerry summoned his last power and hardly stood up, getting a grip on the edge of the pit. He tried to throw himself up, but he fell again into the hole. Jerry grunted with pain and anger. Finally, he could push himself up, rolling on the ground. The rays of the moon and headlights lit hit his face as he lied breathless with his arms wide open.
While trying to catch his breath, he moaned and raised a hand, looking at his palm. He must have hit something stiff around. Jerry lifted his head slowly. Then he slid his eye toward the whiskey bottle next to the drunkard's corpse. Jerry stretched to the bottle, took a sip, and poured some on his stomach. The painful cries that he could not hold inside echoed in the night and his screams spread all over the forest like the wind.
Jerry stared at the sky between woods and leaves while lying with a red face, a pair of lungs begging for breath and dirty, bloody clothes. He heard a loud noise. It was just the wind whistling through the moving trees. No, they were really moving! In Jerry's brain, everything around him turned dizzying and constantly fluttered in the breeze, forming some colorful concentric waves.
Jerry turned his head and looked at the drunkard. He would not be much different from him soon, because he would die from blood-loss. Jerry took another sip of whiskey. Then he wiped the whiskey drops flowing on his cheeks with his sleeves and took a deep breath. It came out almost like a gasp.
Jerry hardly stood up between the dim lights of the car. Barely breathing, he walked and climbed into the car, turned the key, and then he backed out.
After crossing the forest road, he reached the inner city. Everything he saw in the traffic began to blur and fade. Everything was too dizzy and too complicated for Jerry. He barely could pick the cars. He could not see anything out of the blurry, blooming colorful headlights. He shook his head firmly; only then, he could spot the cops ahead on the street. He hardly made a right toward a dark alley.
He pulled over and threw himself out. His ears stuffed; the world just spun out of control around him. He coughed up a few times and spat. Jerry finally managed to lean his head and shoulder against the wall, gasping for air exhausted. He ran a hand on his stomach. His shirt was all crimson. Suddenly, blood poured out of his mouth. The blood drained down onto his lips, and the last drops formed a hanging bloodline in the air, flowing very slowly.
Jerry forced himself and walked holding the wall on the dark alley. He felt like passing out. The traces of blood from his hands descended steadily on the wall, and Jerry finally succumbed. Now, the crimson traces on the wall were nowhere to be seen, and Jerry was lying in the street.
He had blacked out.