Groundhog

I saw the bullet graze her dress before it hit me square in the chest. I wanted to scream, run, defend myself. But, instead, I found out what it felt like to die. As I sat, or stood, floating it seemed in mid-air, a peculiar thought crossed my mind. Was I really dead?

When I reached up to touch the spot where there should be a bullet wound or some sort of hole, I found nothingness. No pain. No tears. No screams. Silence all consuming surrounded me. The woman's torn dress fluttered by. Again, the crack of a gun.