confined ;; phan

chapt. three

PLAYLIST
pull the trigger by russ
message man by twenty one pilots

the sun.

phil is rummaging through dan's closet, searching for alcohol, when the six canister hand gun falls from the shelf and hits his shoulder. he frowns at the glimmering silver piece on the floorboards before picking it up. the metal is stone cold and heavy.

"boom," he whispers, pointing the gun at the wall and pretending to fire. he laughs maniacally. his finger shakes as it rest on the trigger for the first time. the shape is foreign and cold but be pulls it. the gun recoils and only fires a blank.

phil wants to sigh with relief but it doesn't come. he stares out the window, handgun at his side. he knows there's a bullet in one of the six canisters- dan would never leave it empty. he doesn't know which canister it is but he doesn't look. he points it at the window and fires again. nothing. a blank.

again.

nothing.
a blank.

again.

the glass shatters and somebody screams. phil smiles as he watches people on the street scamper frantically. he feels relief flood his veins, almost drowning him. he fires again and expects nothing, but a surprising bang rings through his ears and phil jumps as the screaming grows louder.
there's something about the cry that makes phil's skin crawl. it's laced with pain.

he shot someone.

he begs his legs to move but his body is frozen. merciful pleas escape the fearful mouths on the street and scrape past the shards of sharp glass that stab from the edges of the window.

"call an ambulance!"

"god, somebody help him!"

"we're losing him!"

phil recognizes the shrill of ambulance sirens and he winces. he could run. use the back door, take the dirt roads and sprint to the next town before anyone suspected anything. eleven miles. he could do it.

instead, he takes the gun and uses the front door. he trudges down the steps, heavy breaths hitching in his throat. he stares around at the commotion- an ambulance lifting a man into the back, police officers asking civilians what had happened.

phil realizes nobody will notice him and for a second debates just walking to the pub for a drink. but he points the gun in the air and fires a blank. many scream and scatter- like a herd of sheep when threatened. some cover their heads with their hands and squat behind cars.

ten police officers whip around, guns drawn and pointed at phil. he smiles.

"drop the gun!" one demands. phil lets the weapon slip from his grip, listening to it clang on the cement. he raises his hands and slowly walks towards the officer closest to him.

he drops to his knees, pressing the barrel of the officers gun between his eyes. phil stares up at the confused man before him. slowly, he re-raises his hands.

everything is slow; the civilians lick the nerves from their lips, the police breathe heavy breaths, phil closes his eyes and lets a tear slip.

"help me," phil whimpers. "please."