bits of My Brain

Russian Roulette

I wore my favorite shirt today.

The same teal shirt I had my first kiss in.

The same shirt where he told me he loved me

The same shirt, the same day he was taken away.

I'm here to get him back.

The the air in the room hugs the skin with the stench of fresh corpses and the sweat of burly men. Each crowd around the kneeling prisoners waiving their bets in the air and shouting for the waiters to collect.

Another gunshot.

The roar of the crowd signifies another death. Another death of an innocent citizen, begging for the release of one of the prisoners.

Its always been like this. Ever since the white wars leaving the continents in a crippling debt. It's been hundreds of years and the people of earth is still struggling to get by.

The only way they could, was to steal from others.

If you don't get caught, you spend another day in life free but struggling.

An opening was formed to make way for the newly dead body.

I could see it all in this angle of the room.

It was a woman. Most of he head from the ears up is missing, giving a plain view of the last few bits of her brain still in tact. The shotgun lays in her lap, right under a very swollen stomach.

If you caught... you get sent to the directory. You spend the rest of your life rotting behind state of the art bars created by the last of the few rich citizens.

A cry of one of the prisoners ringed much lower than the free men. It ringed in sadness for the woman and the disgust in the men's glee.

Death always gets his dues.

Two men in pressed suits drag the body to a wooden door leaving a trail of blood after them. The free men stomp their feet, shaking the earth, roaring for the next victim.

Me.

Suddenly a pair of hands took a hold of each of my forearms and dragged me to the middle of the circle. I was gawked at by the men betting and pitied by the other citizens in the sane position I'm in.

No time to think.

I was roughly placed oh a wooden chair. I was pushed forward until my stomach touches the end of the table.

Almost falling over I slam my hands onto the corner of the table. A warm wet sensation forced me to come to realization:

I'm terrified.

I lift my hand and was met with the much to familiar sight of blood and gore.

Bile rose from my stomach and emptied itself onto the dirt floor of the station room.

My heart is racing.

I could die here.

Will I ever have the chance to say goodbye? To see the next sunrise?

"Calm yourself" one of the men in the suits pulls a revolver from inside his suit jacket. He'll places the freshly washed weapon on the table where no blood has tainted. He pulls at his tie straitening it back to place. "That was the fifth one so far. Must not be a lucky day"

My breath quickens.

He stares at me with an unwavering granite gaze. The crowd shuffles closer, waiting for the results.

The bets were set.

Its too late to think of the value of my life.

A grunt from another man in a suit caught my attention. My head snapped up and my heart lurched. He struggles to Carry the body of on other man to the center of the circle.

Him.

He's hurt. His clothes is switched with prisoners clothes. He's sluggish. His eyes hidden behind his matted hair looked dazed. He struggles to lift his head.

Him.

Every citizen knows that if you Steal and if you get caught you get sent away. The only way to come back is if a free citizen were to risk their life for yours.

In a game of Russian roulette.

They pull up another chair and like me they force him onto the seat. He slumps into the chair. The ropes that tied his hands were cut.

Our eyes meet.

Memories.

Memories of those eyes flashes through my head.

Recognition blooms across his malnourished face.

"You know the rules" the man in the suit brushed his hair out of his eyes an old mark of a cross shines under the yellow light. He's a night. He is a freed prisoner. "Take the gun, and count to three"

He sluggishly reaches out to brush his fingers against mine, tightly gripping the edge of the table. I look at him, no words are needed.

Take a breath.

My turn to go.

"Close your eyes...sometimes it helps" the night picks up the gun once more to prepare it with my gamble against death. He places it back on the table.

I reach out and picked up the weapon. It felt heavy, like the weight of all the past citizens were locked inside, regretting, mourning, crying.

Waiting to be freed in the form of a bullet.

I lifted the object and placed the barrel against my temple. I pulled down at the hammer with my thumb making eye contact with him.

If I live we go home. Together.

If I die...

Just pull the trigger.

I have no idea when it comes to guns so I had to look the hammer thing up but hey...I tried.

Anyway I made this little story think after the song Russian roulette by rhianna. I was in the mood to write something kinda crappy.

If you have any questions go ahead and ask but please be polite I have feelings.

Check out my other stories and let me know what you think.

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Bye kittens of mass destruction. (Insert evil laughter here... Preferably the one at the end of thriller)