I was invited (well, not personally, but still…) to join the Fandango’s Friday Flashback!
Fandango scrolls back, every Friday, and gives a second chance to a post he had published on the same date, years before. I thought it was a great way to remember some of the stuff I did a while back, and I decided to participate…
So here it is!
Written in 2016, here is the first part of a short (unfinished) dark fiction series. In all honesty, I hadn’t thought about my Russian Roulette story for years, when I found it back in my dusty archives. Who knows? I just might pick it up where I left it, and work again on the part 4 waiting in my draft file. I hope you’ll enjoy it (again). And I wish you safe and well, wherever you are..
She held the gun to her temple, defying him.
What are you trying to prove?
Her finger on the trigger, she kept silent. She had made herself clear already, and there was no discussion possible. Staring coldly, she was waiting for him to react before she pulled a first time, possibly sealing her destiny.
He had stood up when she had pulled the handgun from under the couch’s pillow, showed him the lonely bullet, and rolled the barrel without the slightest emotion.
She hoped the first pull would be the one. She didn’t want him to kneel down before her desperation. She didn’t want him to have to deal with her lifeless body either, but he had showed up unexpectedly, and there was no clean way out of this now.
What do you want?
If only she knew. But reason had abandonned her, and all that inhabited her soon to be corpse was an emptiness that he couldn’t even imagine. She felt like a black hole, sucking in all trace of light and crushing it in her numbed mind.
She was broken, and nothing could put her back together. She even doubted his presence in the room, certain that her sick mind might have portrayed him just to make her hesitate.
If someone could have stopped her, it would have been him. He would have found the right words to make her think again, to wake her from the nightmare, to put the fire arm on the coffee table and appologize for the drama.
She looked up to the ceilling, hiding from his stare. Was she that crazy? Crazy enough to imagine him, standing there, across the room? Was she crazy enough to impose herself a possible savior to fight with on her way out?
Or was the warmth of his voice real?
She hesitated, yearning to drop the gun and run into his arms to feel whole again. She wanted him to hold her, and tell her everything would be fine. She wanted him to wrap himself around her like a blanket, comforting her, at last.
Gathering her thoughts, she looked back right into his eyes, one last time. True or not, they were the sweetest last sight she could imagine. Farewell world, she thought…
To be continued…
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