She held the gun to his head, looking into his eyes.
He spoke, but she didn’t listen.
The words were empty, sounding meaningful, yet for all the silk
that flowed, the bed he made was hard, uncomfortabl;e… a constant reminder.
Promises, more promises, and then when things seemed almost beyond redemption,
there were more.
Tales of gold and glory. Stories of dreams, magic, love.. beauty of the soul
which would have captured even the most cold hearted’s imagination.
Tugged at the very essence of those whose souls were apparently unreachable.
She listened then, listened well. Listened and understood.
Believed, trusted, placed a faith which contradicted her experiences.
A faith that went against all she knew, all she had ever learnt.
When the doors opened, she had readily stepped inside,
not realising that doors can stop people getting out,
as their sturdiness was instrumental in preventing anyone getting in.
For a while her boldness paid off, she lived a life of passion,
love, satiated desires, rich in experiences both carnal and cerebral.
For a while the clamouring voices remained silent,
drowned out by the metaphorical grapes and palm leaf fans,
quashed as the marterialistic side was dazzled with gems and gold.
Time was the real enemy, it passed, the truth beckoned.
No sparkle, no pedestal, no name in lights, nor the reverance of unbridled love could
place a barrier between what was, what is, what will be…. and the truth.
So it came down to her hand on the trigger,
his words she chose not to hear.
The hammer drew back, almost feeling like it wanted to slam into the bullet,
it’s purpose in life fulfilled, extinguishing the life of another in an explosion of fire and fury.
As the moment took shape, that silhouette between reality and fantasy,
she felt a sense of pity.
She saw this man for what he was,
a being of immense potential. Holding onto to an impossible belief.
Grasping at a future with her, and promising the Earth, and meaning every single word.
Shouting to the Heavens, proclaiming his feelings,
even if what he believed made no difference.
Her finger released the tension, the hammer fell slowly back.
Her right hand also noticeaby relaxed, her left raised, palm forward,
showing her intent not to fire, an intention to just walk away.
He looked up. Resting on his knees, he looked up.
There was no sound. Not that he’d have heard it anyway, if the bullet had been released.
He just knew the time for death had passed.
That he was alive, but felt dead inside.
Numb to the world. Five senses, but a brain which could no longer interpet the sensory input,
or just no longer wanted to.
His desire now was for that bullet. To end it.
To draw a line, a line under his days.
A way to make sense of things, if he was gone, nothing new to factor in.
Just the past.
That in itself was so complex he couldn’t foresee a future,
so his last thoughts turned to what never made sense.
She turned and walked away, but saw in his eyes there was no threat.
Her life was safe, whereas she felt scared before.
Now the tables were turned,
she could not see a future with him.
To remove him completely was to set herself free.
But the realisation was, he’d do it himself. He just needed a reason to.
Placing the gun on the table, she cast one last forlorn glance in his direction
before passing through that door. That door she never thought she’d step through again.
The outside was now a place of freedom and wonder, not a fearful, dark, unknown land to run away from.
It was just a door, not some ethereal barrier to look at without pondering over.
Now it was closed again, she was free. He was trapped and alone.
This time the hammer was not going be denied it’s reason to exist.
The sound of the contained explosion rang out.
Neither of them heard it.
Neither of them cared anymore, but for completely different reasons.
Steve B 08/08