Maybe a Beginning (read: middle, end, etc.)

After a shot rang out and Eddie's forehead leaked something red, something red...she couldn't place it...and his eyes rolled up as if floating to the surface of some invisible body of water...and he slumped...she couldn't place it...Jane continued to describe all the minute flavors of her tea, very confused now, but maintaining the decorum as if she had stepped into the middle of the highway and it was the swerving, horn-blaring, tire-ripping, metal-crunching, automotive tonnage hurtling towards her that she addressed with the details of her tea. It was not until nearly three minutes after her teacup had fallen and shattered, bits of century-old porcelain and puddled brown water on her wood floor that she heard the shot.