I don’t find this “it made me feel bad” convincing.

stephaniestreisand:

This deadly game that we play is but a suggestion of action, an ephemeral battle of wits until the first dart of the tournament leaps from the barrel of a ruthless assassin, hurtling through the space which poetically juxtaposes hunter and hunted. Making deadly contact, the first brutal shot makes the figurative literal. It makes the theoretical actual. It makes the cocky tweet a braggy tweet.

At 6:30 this evening, the ruthless assassin with that honor isolated her target tonight (under the auspices keeping her safe from another player) in a restroom in Penn Station - a location as filthy as the soul of a killer so unscrupulous. Then, in a moment rife with ironic metaphor, WASHED HER HANDS BEFORE FATALLY SHOOTING HER UNSUSPECTING TARGET, VERÓNICA OSORIO.

The first competitor in this competition has fallen. Good night, Ms. Osorio. Your deeds were few and your death was quick, but you will long be remembered as the first casualty in a brutal and epic war. Alongside Crispus Attucks, Franz Ferdinand, and that Uruk-Hai that gets shot in The Two Towers because the old guy accidentally lets go of his bowstring.

And to Verónica’s target: watch your back. You now have a more bloodthirsty, more tenacious and more lethal killer on your trail.

This night may be far from over - there is a hornet’s nest in Long Island City tonight with several players in a confined space. A massacre may be brewing.

Mother Fuckin’ Boom!

I gave Veronica my gun to hold and then asked for it back after I washed my hands. I told her I was sorry and then shot her.

Then she looked back at me with big doe eyes, asking how I could do that to her. It made me feel bad.

Good thing no one else in the game is doe eyed.