Fiction
I heard the question "What is the worst thing you ever did?" So I made up the following story to sound cool.

I had to shoot a horse once. It's funny the shift in the room when you say that.
It was Spring 1958. I was traveling in Iowa. There wasn't much in Iowa in the fifties  save horses and people driving through.
It was just morning. Clear, Sunny, chilly, Nothing special going at all. Then the station wagon ahead of me locked up the breaks. They were way ahead so I had plenty of time to stop my Ford. Cars were not so easy to stop in those days.
Out of the smoke that rose from the road in front of me, fell a horse. Right in the middle of my world. I hadn't been near a horse in years. Now, my world would pivot on a horse's death. The horse had rolled over the car and landed hard on the pavement. The horse tried to get up. Both legs on one side were dangling like the limbs of a rag doll. The others were flailing, scratching. Her eyes were back  and wild. her mouth was wide, bleeding, and her cry warped steel. Her cry burned my soul, branded me to this day. Her cry shook the thing that makes us human. Shrill, sound, long, agony, the horse sounds like a suckling pig taken from it's tit.
Then, all in one movement.
I stopped the Ford.
I rose from my seat.
I paid no mind to the family already weeping for the horse.
I paid no mind to the woman hurt, not badly in the station wagon.
I went to the trunk.
I held the 45 , a long time traveling companion.
I fed one round and closed the slide.
I walked close to the horse
I fired the lone spark that quieted the most exquisite rage.
Then the morning came back. Like the sun came cracked dawn a second time.
A young girl wept beside the road. It was her horse. Her mother ran to check on the woman in the wagon. Then walked toward me.
I put the gun in my belt and tried to think of something to say. The mother looked down at her daughters prise pet. The story told itself. The horse bolted away form the girl and into the lonely street.
She said simply "Thank you." And went to comfort her child.