Hayloft One Shot

Hayloft II

cw: gun violence, homophobic slurs, swearing, blood

"Don't move." My voice came out far more forceful than I had intended. A bold show for someone who had the emotions of a lost child. 

Once the look of shock had left his face, a sickly grin crept on to replace it. "I'm not surprised we ended up here," he said, in a stupidly calm voice that made me want to beat the shit out of him. I was shaking, and I felt my sweaty hand slip off the grip of the pistol I had stolen. My father raised his arms mockingly and let out a manic laugh. "Go on son. Pull the trigger. We all know you're too much of a princess to do it." My head was pounding and I could feel the blood roaring in my ears. I had never been so mad before. My stance faltered and he took this as an invitation to keep talking. "Even if you were to shoot me," he whispered, "My job would already have been done. One less faggot in the world is a favour for everyone." he spat, an ugly sneer on his face. My heart skipped a beat as I remembered in vivid detail what had happened that night. It had been two years since then and every waking hour had been hell. All my problems were because of the man in front of me. The man who's life was now in my hands.

I straightened up and walked closer to where he stood with a blank expression on my face. I could tell he was thrown off. He hadn't expected me to get this far. Before he could move I grabbed the collar of his washed out shirt and pulled him forward roughly. His smile was quickly fading but he attempted to keep up the act. "You're ugly for a queer you know? Most of them keep up with their appearance but you've really let yourself go," he whispered, showing off his crooked tobacco stained teeth. I ignored him and raised the gun to his temple, my hand shaking, before whispering my last goodbye. "I may be a faggot but I'd rather that then turn out like the pathetic man you are." Without hesitation I pulled the trigger. It was done. He was gone. I threw the pistol on the floor and walked out, emotionless, leaving my victim to bleed out. I would later  realize that in doing so, whether I liked it or not, I had just become even more like the man I hated most.