The gun is not my enemy, it’s my friend.
The coolness of the barrel pressing against my temple provides a satisfaction I can’t explain, especially when I remember all the horrors, the pain, and the violence.
With this gun, I could wash away everything I no longer wish to feel—agony, loneliness, the nightmares that continuously haunt me.
I’ve grown to love my gun, to care for it. To feed it. It craves the blood of my enemies and the pain of those who’ve caused me harm. It’s not evil, nor is it good, but it is a part of me, like an extra limb.
I lie flat on my bed, bracing myself to give the trigger a pull with my finger. I stare up at the ceiling fan, the pointed silver blades spinning round and round, and for a fleeting moment it seems as if all the weight has been lifted. The world would be so much brighter without me in it. The sun will continue to shine, the grass will grow, flowers will bloom, and everyone will move on.
More pressure to the trigger, and I squeeze my eyes shut and think this is it. I’ll leave this fucked up place and my body will turn to bone, then shrivel to dust. There’s relief in knowing my grief will be washed away—that the burdens and worries will be no more.
More pressure to the trigger.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter.
Why do I have to deal with all this alone? My eyes pop open and I stare at the ceiling fan again when I hear a voice so soft, so angelic, that my breath catches.
“What?” I whisper aloud. My breaths become ragged as I slowly pull the gun away from my head, and I wait…wait…wait for the voice to respond. To say something—anything. Just a whisper, at least, to let me know it’s there. That I’m not alone.
But I don’t hear it again. Just like a feather, it floats away, right out of my grasp, drifting into the dark depths of my mind. It’s nothing but a hollow echo now, slowly fading away, despite how much I need it to stay.
I sit up on the edge of the bed, place my gun down beside me, and drag my fingers down the length of my face.
That voice in my head…it’s not my mother. Not a friend. No one from my clan. It belongs to someone I’m sure I’ve never met before, yet I feel as if I know everything about her.
