When I was just a child, I never imagined I would ever be holding a gun.
Just last week, I never imagined I would be having this feeling I
have now… Satisfaction. Pure satisfaction in holding this gun, looking
straight at the man I would soon be waking up.
He lay in his bed, peacefully sleeping. He had no worries. He had no
regrets. He was living his life when he clearly should have been the
one to die. I trusted no one with knowing what I was about to do… I
only trusted myself. I knew that if I had told, they would have all
locked me up and put me away.
I realized how creaky his wooden floors were, so I slipped off my
pumps, and I tip toed on over to the end of his bed. he grunted and
turned his head slowly so that he was facing his door. I felt sweat
trickling down my nose. I quickly wiped it off.
I looked down at the gun, an M9 pistol, and I smiled. I lifted my hand, and I placed it on his leg. his head shot up.
“Whaa?” He was delirious. He finally turned and looked at me, his head racing, a frenzied look in his eye.
“You made me do this, Enn.”
I pointed the gun at him, then at myself.
I pulled the trigger.
I fell to the ground.