I would never aim at his head. It had been hit with enough simulated bullets already, I also would never fire at his heart. There was only emptiness where his heart should have been. From childhood, everyone he knew had laid claim to his heart and he had generously handed it out. Some of it was scribbled on notepaper in wastebaskets, some was thrown out with garbage, some lay moldering in the fields of Rocky mountain NC. Much more had been given to women. The part he had fastened to the bodies of women had beaten so hard it frightened them, made them unable to sleep.
