Put the gun down

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"Listen, put the gun down, you don't have to do this" "don't I?" She asked relieved. The worry and fear slowly fading from her face."no no of course not, just put the gun down, we can talk ok?" Instead of saying anything she released the gun, bolted into my arms and melted into them as tears of weakness and defeat slid down her face."I'm sorry I was just being stupid" she apologised while hiccuping "oh no it's fine, is there anything we can do for you?what do you need?" "I wanna live" she admitted, like a huge weight has been lifted from her chest."I just wanna live, I've heard good things, so I'd like to try it" "ok,ok we can do that" I said while rubbing her back repeatedly in circles trying to comfort her. "I'm Martha and this is Karl, what's your name?" "Death"she replied as if it were the most natural name in the world.

Next thing we knew she was sat on our sofa observing the the 80's styled flat we'd grown into."Is this it?" She asked sounding very disappointed by the lack of objects in the room. I chuckled a bit by her lack of manners "Yeah I'm afraid so" "do you wanna drink?""can I have some wine?" She replied instantly as the visible excitement was bubbling in her."I heard that's good" I just nodded as Karl and I turned to the kitchen.

"I don't like it!"exclaimed Karl once out of her presence. "What?" I asked half heartedly, failing to find the only bottle of white wine in the house. "Her. She's playing a game." "that's not fair" I reasoned, feeling pity on the lost girl sitting in the living room. "No!, what's not fair is trying to kill our dog, and going around saying your the physical manifestation of the grim reaper. I mean what? Is this some kind of fetish thing?" "Its obviously not a fetish thing."I spat slightly annoyed by his tone and inability to help me search for the wine. He carried on "yeh, well what ever it is, I don't like it and I want her out of this house" "what makes you think you have a say?" I question him. The words disposed his mouth as fast as a blink of an eye.

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