Contempt

Question: What's more deadly, a gun or a thought?

She sat there with ambiguous thoughts about the short life she has lived so far. How many things have gone unfulfilled and the regrets that constantly manifests in her mind. Just the continuous pain of being the person she is, or that maybe she could be the person she wants to me. It took over her whole being like a flooded dam, rushing out to the point of no return. And, in a way she thought that the silver pistol sitting in front of her symbolized just exactly she felt.

Guns are cold, they target people who have done wrong, or have done something wrong in someone else's life. Guns get rid of people who cause pain, people who do not deserve to walk this earth. Whether it be for a good reason or not guns make people's problems away. They make horrid things vanish just with the pull of a trigger. The world then has less cruel, unwanted people in the world. It's almost like a free ticket to solve the problems that possess others. It eradicated them.

An excellent opportunity, right?

There was nothing, but agony within her. It consumed her very slowly, it crept up on her. It was just a lingering ache the appeared. Insecurities, boy problems or just because it was one of those days. She had no clue that this torment would abolish her soul and leave her a empty shell of her former self. Now, that pain was everywhere she looked, everywhere she went. It controlled her, it made her. It was slowly abrogating her.

As these thoughts poured into her head she felt closer to that gun. She had every urge in her to pick up that gun in front of her and embrace it like a newborn baby. That gun intrigued her more than it should have. It called her passionately; it was taunting her. The gun wanted her just as much as she wanted it and she was going to have it.

Her shaky hand reached for the gun that looks like a million dollars. Her fingertips barely glided over the gun before she quickly moves her hand away from it.

"No." She whimpers, quietly.

Remorse, devoured her. She hunched herself over with a sickly feeling deep inside of her. The gun remained seated in its same spot, but she knew it belonged in her cold fingers. She desired for it, inches away, but she stopped. The fact she looked at the gun with admiration was wrong. It was false, an illusion. Yet, knowing those imprecise thoughts only made her eagerness grow.

Her family and friends suddenly came to mind. They claimed to loved her; it was just a given when it came to certain people. They even spoke those three powerful words on occasion. Of course, when those words were spoken she felt numb. It was impossible for anyone to love her. Those words numbed her; it make her whole being tired, it drained her. While that hollow feeling sat on top of her body she counted her flaws. She counted on her fingers every single one of them, never left space for her strengths. So, when anyone told her that false phrase all she thought was why instead of telling them that she loved them back. It was foreign to her, there was nothing there.

Meaningless.

There has been countless times where she stood in front of a mirror and stared at herself. Tears streamed down her face and begged herself to be strong. The times where tears stained her face at late hours of the night tired, physically and mentally. She wanted to close her eyes and never open them again. She couldn't even remember who she was before the world told her she could be.

All she wanted was an escape from the pain. Her whole body was weak, unbearable past tolerable. She wanted control, stability and relief. The fact that she knew what was right did not matter. The people who "loved" her was not of importance. None of that mattered anymore. She was sick of doing what was right, what people expected. She wanted to do what she has been inching for what felt like centuries.

She wanted to end it.

"Pick me up, Darling?" He spoke, sweetly.

Without another thought, she grabbed the silver pistol and that sickly feeling vanished instantly. It felt as if she held a piece of her. There was nothing wrong as the cold surface brush over her fingertips. The feel of the trigger made her feel invincible. Knowing that freedom was just a inch away made her mouth water in satisfaction. It was all bittersweet. Sure, she would cause pain by doing this, but she was done thinking about others feelings. It wasn't about them anymore.

Answer: A gun gives you the opportunity, but a thought pulls the trigger.