a gun in the mouth

A Story by Scott Troy

something i was playing with waaaaay back when.

A moodily lit bar. cigarette and whiskey. Its all a matter of time. My third of fourth? doesnt matter really. Finish quickly. I put some distance between us. Make shift tourniquette holding my shoulder together. I look like hell. Bartender is used to my kind apparently. Disheveled and forgotten wretches. 9mm warm against my ribs. It'll come. My mouth tastes bitter, stale blood and whiskey. I think back to the first kill, always the hardest. Its much easier after that. You reget nothing when heaven doesn't strike you down. A turn for the worst. i see the headlights. three cars screech to a halt in front of the bar. A seedy place full of lowlives. Home sweet home. My right hand itches to react already. Steady the nerves. Death will soon sweep over me. Doors slam. I can hear the faint sound of guns loading and clicking. They came prepared this time. I still have unfinished business. i cannot die yet. The door comes off the hinges. I leap to safety amidst a hail of bullets. Death cries ring around me. Pitiful b******s. I turn a table over. damn this city. i hear talk of my futility an that i should have known better. Curses aimed at my name and bullets at my head. Not surprising, i killed quite a few of their men in the past week. I laugh to myself and finish my whiskey. My right hand finds my gun. click-click. Time to bare my teeth. i draw and let loose the total of my convictions.