One Liners | One-Shots | Short Stories

How It Ends

She is watching me. She is always watching me. But this time there's a purpose to it. If I fail the test, she won't be watching, but she'll be whipping. Whipping my bare back, shredding my skin and watching me bleed. Then, she'll be chaining me up, and throwing me into the pit — the black pit of nothing that already swallowed my soul the first time.

I don't think I'll survive another month in there.

My hands shake as I reach for the gun on the table. The cold metal slides down my palm, every hard edge carving into my skin.  I'm shaking so much I can't put in the bloody magazine.

I hear footsteps clomp towards me, and then warm hands touch mine. They gently take the gun and magazine from my hold, and smoothly slide it in themselves. The hands are strong and tanned. Easy and sure. He hands me the gun.

I don't want to look at his face, because I know it will only make this harder.  I know I won't survive another month in there.  This is goodbye.

But Deryl isn't having it.

He hands me the gun, but he doesn't let go until I look him in the eyes.  I know if we were alone, he would reach for my chin and force me to look up at him.  His hands would be soft and inviting ... his eyes are as blue now as they are when we are alone.

"Calm down," He whispers, but there's no sound.  Just the hiss of every consonant. "Stop shaking."

I want to curse at him, but I don't have time. So I glare at him instead, and pull the gun from his grasp. A second later, I wish I hadn't, because I know now there is no stalling of time. No excuse to stay here for a minute longer and stare into his eyes. I will miss his eyes.

Deryl watches me, shocked, expectant, scared.  He's never scared.

"It's going to be okay," He whispers.

She is still watching.

I can't do anything but nod at him, but my bottom lip quivers. I hope he sees it in my eyes that I love him, because I do. Even though I never say so, I've always known. I hope ... I wonder ...

But she is watching.

He makes the first move. To make it easier for me, I know. But still — it hurts to watch him turn away, and I hate him for making me watch him turn away. But everything he's ever done has been to make things easier for me. All our firsts have been his first move ... so naturally he turns away first.

But, it still hurts. Maybe more than another month in the pit.

I am wondering about this as I slowly take my place in front of the victim. She is tied to the chair, with a sack slung over her head. She is completely faceless to me. Even from here, I can tell how badly she's shaking. As bad as me.

"Hurry up." It's her. She is always watching, and now she's speaking. Telling me to get on with my task, this one simple task that I have continuously failed. Even Deryl passed -- and I hated him for it.  I think maybe, she won't let me die slowly in the pit, but she'll cut me up herself. Piece by piece. Maybe by my tongue first. I've heard rumours of her doing such things.

This makes me shake more. 

I raise my shaky gun towards the girl's head.

"Stand closer."

No. But I will. I take a step forward, gun still raised. The entire class watches my hand shake, my thumb very slowly pulling back the safety.

It clicks. And the woman lets out a gasping sob, a whimper.

"Shut up." It's her. She screams. She screams at this woman, this soul who has but seconds to live. She screams at her to shut up.

I know before it happens that I can't do it. Because I've never been able to do it. I wasn't able to do it before, and I won't do it now. Tears blur my eyes, but my finger still holds the trigger. Not pulling, not releasing.

The air is full of nothing but silence, and the woman's stifled sobs.

There's a breath of a scoff, "Still can't do it?" It's her.

I make a bold move.  I lower the gun before she can stalk over and hit me with it.  I lower the gun to my side, and look directly at her.  Her eyes cleave the air towards me.

"No," I reply.  The air is dead quiet.  My voice and every part of me are shaking. "And I never will."

The class. My classmates. My Deryl. I don't hear a peep out of any of them.

She sits there very still for a long moment.  And then she stands up, but I've already tossed my gun to the floor with a defiant clang.

"I guess you're going to have to kill me," I spit out, the words bitter in my mouth, even though I smile. A slow, small smile.

She walks towards me, and from the corner of my eye a figure shoots to his feet. Deryl.

"Wait," he says.

It's her. She doesn't wait. She swoops down and snatches the gun from the floor as fast as a whip. It's at my forehead a heartbeat later, and all I have time to do is close my eyes.

"Wait!" Deryl shouts.

There's the sickening, vibrating shriek of a bullet shredding through the air. There's a yell too, and a number of sounds that I can no longer recognise. But I see the bullet, I do. I see it travelling towards me like the whisper of death ... and everything after.  Everything good that was sucked from this world, and suddenly, now ... it comes back to welcome me.

But Deryl.

He is my only regret.  He is just one thing, but he tugs at my heart like a strung-up puppet. He is the one thing I wish I could take with me to this new paradise, that sings my name. But nevermind ... there's nothing to do.

It sings my name.

It calls for me.

There's the ghost of a smile on my face. I feel it. And it's the last thing I feel before impact hits me, and the world goes dark.