I knew what happened when I saw the scene:
Doug caressed the revolver and whispered to it. And it whispered back. The bullet entered Doug's head, and it ruptured his eyeball.
That hateful machinery of death:
1. continued across the orbital wall and through his ethmoid sinuses, which are those hollow areas around the nose, and
2. it fractured his frontal sinus, causing the leakage of cerebrospinal fluid;
3. the bullet missed the major arteries of the sinuses — this ensured that there won't be any more bleeding.
Finally, that 7.82-mm intention of death whistled past his left orbital floor and out above his left cheekbone.
I held Doug's hand, staunched the gushing of blood from his eye, and told him a lie: Everything will be alright.
But it was a safe lie, a good lie. Doug died with me plugging his eye socket with a towel. It's better that he calls it a night instead of living a miserable existence in this life.
I felt his heart flutter, and he gave one final wink with his good eye. I sighed with relief, because we were in agreement.
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