Everyone knew it was a woman bullet, going from hand to hand like the fake coin, as the song said. But he didn't care. He had fallen in love with his primal innocence, running after his "she, he, we, and they", playing with his "my mother pampers me" and his eternal "you will always be my friend" after that tender kiss on the cheek that he gave her at recess at the age of just seven.
He saw her grow so fast that he lost track of her. With time, and after many years, he found her again in the streets of his city made a woman, but lost in the infernal loop of drugs. He went to look for her to rescue her and tell her: "you are still my little friend", but she didn't recognize him. She looked at him and with a demonized look shouted at him to leave her alone.
He didn't give up and kept going every night to try to get her out of the abyss in which she was lost, but he didn't make it.
In one of those visits, he found her lying among blackened, pissed and dirty cartons, like a broken and helpless doll that had been thrown into the dump.
He sat down, put her on his lap and called the emergency services who, when they arrived, certified her death. He accompanied her in the ambulance trying to control a heartbroken cry. From the emergency room, she called her family. No one wanted to take care of her. She had what she wanted, her relatives told her. He sat next to her, took her hand and said: I'm still here, little friend.
Image source: Pixabay y 
If you want to read more of my posts go to my profile:
Posted from my blog with SteemPress : https://moises-moran.timeets.com/index.php/2018/11/02/the-female-bullet/