The man in the red shirt stood in the park, glaring at me like a hawk focused on its prey. Even though I could see his left hand, his right hand was hidden, concealed on his side. I stood there with my hands firmly griped around the Glock 17 pistol, thinking, “Does his right hand hold a weapon that could kill me?” Before I could even think about my next move, the man’s right hand shot up and a loud bang followed. I realized it was my gun that was the culprit of the gunfire. I shot the man. “So…