TTo Die Without a Bullet

          by Violetta Kitten



 And the gun was pointed at her head.  She had nothing else to live for.  Life
 was filled with boredom, and no one could offer her the hope she needed to
 silence the demons.

     Why won't these voices go away?  They                                                                                                             
     tell me to do things - bad things.  I have 
     these visions of me killing others.  I have 
     these visions of others killing me.  I know I can
     silence the power.  Pull the trigger.  Release
     the bullet, and the hurting will end.  The pain 
     will stop.

 She grasped the cold, hard steel of the killing machine and stared deep
 beneath its surface.  No feeling inside, yet so much feeling entrusted.
 As she thought more and more about what she was going to do -- she shivered,
 she shaked, she cried.

          Dead.  I am already dead.  And they
          all know this.  I am fucking dead.  
          Wish someone cared.  Cared enough
           to kill me....?  Spare the world.  Take
           me away.  I am worthless.  I am nothing
           I am no longer me.

  Maybe she just wanted someone to save her.  She laid back on the cold bed, soaking her flat pillow with her salty tears.  there was always hope left.  After everything, isn't there always hope?
  Lying there, listening to herself cry, she could faintly recall something rather insignificant, but definitely meant something to her.  If she had anything worth smiling about, it was the memories.
  Approximately five weeks ago she was walking alone, as usual, down a wet and dark alley.  She could hear struggling from a far existence, and she could sense the danger.  Her body tingled.  Her eyes swelled.  Her muscles ached.  She didn't realise that someone was in trouble until she heard the loud, piercing scream.  It was a scream of horror, a scream of death.  Something she knew all too well.
  She searched the endless reaches of the alley until she found what she was looking for.  She could smell the blood.  She could smell the death.  It called to her, and she ran to it with open arms.
  And then she was running faster and faster.  It was getting closer.  Her heart nearly stopped when she found what she was looking for.
  Death.  Pain.  Terror.  Agony.

          So this is life.  Lucky girl.  Wish I
          was you.  I wish I knew what you knew.
          You look so beautiful.  Just like a dream.
          Capture me.  Save me.  Take me with you.

  She stood over death, and she collapsed to the ground crying.  Everyday was like Sunday, and it ate at her insides.  She was slowly decaying from the inside out, and no one would notice until it was too late.  Then there was no salvation from this hell.
  This was only one memory.  It paled in existence to all the rest, but it still existed.  And what did this mean?  Things happen for a reason, but they aren't there for us to understand.  They just exist.
  But now she was sleeping -- deep, deeper, deepest.  She curled against the pillow, as if it were her binding lover, while she cradled the gun in both of her hands.  It was smooth, but cold ..  hard, but gentle.
  Just like so many of the people she had cared about.  She put her trust in their hands and they tore it to shreds.  She had no friends, no companions, because everyone was evil.  They all smelled of betrayal, and she didn't need another cold whisper.  Especially now, when she was already dying.
  And now she is awake.  She has decided that this is her last breathing moment -- her farewell to the world.  This is her one and only chance to shine.

                  I loved the world, but it fucked me up...
                  Good-bye...

  The phone never rang.  The mail never came.  And this is the sad tone of it
  all.  Does anyone ever care?