As I was turning my gaze to look the guest in the face, I got as far as the neck, when I felt it.
A sharp pain seared through my chest, occurring simultaneously to the ear splitting bang that echoed around the deserted street. I staggered backwards through the doorway of the house. I reflexively looked down as if attempting to stop the agonizing pain, but my efforts were met by the sight of a bullet hole that was weeping a crimson fluid - my blood - that was soaking through my shirt and gradually spreading along the thin fabric.
This annoyed me. That was my favourite shirt; a Jack Wills Spring piece that cost me three weeks allowance. I doubted I could salvage the shirt, as there were blood stains everywhere, and a hole where the bullet entered. I tried not to think too much about my injury, as I was always a little on the squeamish side.
I looked up and tried to focus my gaze on my assailants, but they were already driving away, just two red specks of the tail lights in the night.
I vaguely heard a tinkling of glass as my body gave out on me, carrying me into a wall, and knocking off the mirror that hung there. It hit the tiles, smashing into thousands of tiny pieces. I slid down the wall, until I was a heap on the floor, and I was aware of my blood pooling on the tiles in my peripheral vision.
As I lay on the floor gasping, my vision began to fade. My senses were shutting down, and the last thing I saw through my blurred vision was the silhouette of a person moving towards me. There was the far off sound of someone calling for me, but I was unable to answer. Then, there was nothing...