It was a beautiful sandwich. Fresh vegetables and cold cuts, bread straight from the oven--a masterpiece. There was no better sandwich in the world for the man she loves. He worked late nights and bought her gifts. He told her that she was his, and he was hers. And one day, this place would be theirs. Possessive pronouns were special that way.
A bang of a door.
"I'm in the kitchen!"
A barrel of a gun.
"Who are you?"
A click of the safety.
"What do you want?"
A cold stare. A revealing of sharp teeth.
Bangbangbang!
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