When Should A First Time Be The Last Time?

while she was nursing my old wounds, somebody gave me a gun and asked me to shoot her. Without hesitations, I pointed it at her head. She heard a clicking sound.

A stare. She didn't look scared or nervous or as if she's about to beg for mercy. The alcohol bottle was left uncapped so its sweet, irritating scent dispersed in the air and hit my nostrils. They didn't enjoy the treat.

"Put on the cap" I said.

"Shoot me first... do it. Make sure you got enough rounds there to finish me off immediately" The matter-of-factly way she stated that order made me tighten my grip on the gun.

"I can do that... " I smiled.

She smirked, and went back to wiping off the blood that trickled down from my chest.

"go ahead, you cripple... Make sure your ego goes on living a normal life again once you pulled the trigger. You insecure son of a bithch... why can't you understand that this is just how fools act in a decent world. We need to hide a part of ourselves that make us complete and just show what actually pleases other people? He owns me. He holds my hand. We become one at times. But after that, I am alone again, a lost soul. And this! This has become my home!"

Darkness and silence go well together, don't they?

"...I don't need you anymore." A lie.

"you are bleeding"
"you've caused this..."
"I know, that's why I am here..."
"Why can't you just pull out the dagger?"

She laughed... a long, hard laugh. I think she finds it really funny because her hand is touching her tummy.

she finally said, "you know we both enjoy being here and doing this..."

Our eyes met. We smiled at first... then a gush of realizations flooded my mind. That's the time we both laughed together, hands on our tummies.