Choices made

Two boys stood on the hot tar roof. One of them begging “Please don’t. You don’t have to do this. You don’t hav---” He fell silent. It was futile to argue and he knew it. That’s how it was here. One day you could be carefree and the next, you could have a gun in your face.
The sound of the Glock 9mm cut through air. Once. Twice. Three times it rang. Blood pooled around the dead boys face and torso. Just another life cut short.
A gun dropped and a boy ran, fearing the police and the obvious ramifications that were to come. He had killed a person. What was he to do? Why did he do it? What was he going to do now? He ran home, packed some stuff (clothes mostly). Where was he going to go? He didn’t know.
In his confusion, he had forgotten all about the gun. He had a rap sheet. It was mostly for small things. Graffiti here. Assault there. Harassing an officer of the law. Breaking and entering. These were crimes, yes, but none were murder. Regardless, his finger prints were in the system.
The police arrived less than ten minutes after the incident on the roof. A gun lay in the pooling blood.
Two lives thrown away.