✔𝐆𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐲 ➳ 𝚩𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝚩𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬

𝚸𝐫𝛐𝐥𝛐𝐠𝐮𝐞

"𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚 𝑜𝑓 𝑝𝑜𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑒𝑡 𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓, 𝑠𝑎𝑑𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠, 𝑜𝑟 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑠. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝐺𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑘 𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛."

« 𝚸𝐫𝛐𝐥𝛐𝐠𝐮𝐞 »

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝛐𝐢𝐧𝐠 to die. If that comes as a surprise to you, then I don't suppose this story is for you. In the end, they will all die. An undeniable fact. I must admit, we are getting ahead of ourselves, but I won't shy away from the truth. There is your first clue. I am honest, and I don't like mysteries. The mysteries don't make much sense to me. I know how it ends, so why shouldn't you?

If this doesn't bother you, then we can continue.

An introduction might be in place. Most people enjoy starting with the beginning. I am not nice. It's been mistaken for unfairness before, but I assure you, when we meet, as all the variables fall into place and your soul finds its way to my arms, I will be nothing if not fair. I will carry you gently away with the light perched on my shoulder.

The question is, of course, what colour your light with be?

But people rarely find their way here to become philosophical, so I'll skip that part for now. Although, the lights do serve as a good distraction, and perhaps that is my saving grace. Distraction. You must understand, the souls do not bother me. I carry them all the same, but what I do find unbearable is the leftovers. The ones we often don't talk about.

The survivors.

I can never stand to look at them, and yet I often find my gaze unable to peel away. I've picked up a fascination with the lights to distract myself. But now and again, my eyes land on them, and I am faced with their crumbling faces of realisation, despair, and surprise. The punctured hearts. The broken spines. The beaten lungs.

This brings me to the subject I am telling you about tonight, or today, or whatever the hour and light. One of those leftover humans. She is nothing special if you were to ask her. A rather faulty statement from humans in general, but I've come to accept that about them, so I hope you will too.

I saw the gunslinger three times.

« ⌑⌑⌑ »

The gun is stretched in front of her body. Her hands are shaking, and her palms are becoming sweatier. Rosalie can barely put her finger on the trigger. It's inching closer, but she can't get it there. She's almost sure it's glued along with the barrel. Her ring might be magnetic and it's what's holding her back. To her, it feels that way.

"Rose!" Castor groans with hair sticking to his forehead. It's so God damn hot on the bottom of this stupid ship. Edwin tightens his arm around her brother's throat and cuts off his words before he can speak.

"Put down the gun, sweets," Ed barks with a toothy grin. He knows she won't be able to do it. All three of them know it's true.

Rosalie isn't sure if it's actual words she's hearing. There's a massive drum in her chest and she's almost sure her own heart is cutting off her airways. All she has to do is pull the trigger. But she's also known him for so long. Even now, like this, killing your friend isn't easy. She can kill him right now, and all of this would be over. Right now. Right here. All she has to do is pull this God damn trigger.

Castor is still struggling, and she chokes up again. The tears are in her eyes, and she watches Ed pull out a knife from his back pocket. She sees it happening but doesn't do anything.

Come on! Pull the fucking trigger!

Her own swearing doesn't help. Ed raises his hand with the knife, and it soars across the room. The realisation hits her with the steel blade as it lodges itself in her shoulder, and the sheer force makes her stumble back. The gun is lowered. Ed moves. This time, she doesn't see it, but another shot goes off. It's not just her own gun. Two shots. She knows what it means before she's able to knock her head on the metal pipe and fall unconscious.

The light in the bottom of that cargo ship was a distinct brown chocolate. Dark, dark chocolate with a billion or so of flavours attached to it. I quite enjoyed it. Rosalie Kasten did not. It was the first time I saw the gunslinger.

« ⌑⌑⌑ »

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