If We Only Had A Chance

Guns and Their Triggers

Warning: Slight panic attack (starts at "the whole time I was in there" ends by pov switch), vomit

I forgot what it felt like to be in a cell. I seem to be forgetting a lot recently. Agent Olken was the one to escort me to my cell in the lower levels of the FBI building. It was a harshly lit room with bulletproof glass walls and an opening for food and items to be passed through. My hands were behind my back when I approached the two guards standing outside the cell but they were uncuffed as they opened the door. When I went to walk through the door they stopped me and held up a worn leather muzzle which dangled in front of my face.

"This will go on if you try anything funny. We heard what happened in your old cell," The man not holding the muzzle said and pushed me through the door roughly. I forgot how people with power can so easily abuse it just because they can. I shouldn't be so naive.

"Don't give me a reason to bite and I won't," I say pulling my knees up to my chest and staring into the glass blandly. It's hitting me again. Agent Olken crouched down slowly into my view and tilted her head before speaking.

"If you keep speaking like that it'll only fuel their hatred towards you." She stood up and turned to walk out the room. "Don't be the cause of your own demise."

"What fun would it be if I wasn't the cause?" She's out of the room by the time the words are out of my mouth. The lights are making a headache form in the sides of my skull.

I glance around the cell and behind me there is a metal bed with a beaten up mattress and a small white blanket. No bathroom inside of the room and nothing short enough the hang from the ceiling. I grab the blanket from off the bed and cover my shoulders up as the cold sets in. I can feel the panic setting in, just like the first night I was in a cell. It was never the small space that bothered me but the fact that I was being watched constantly.

I breathe in and out slowly as I try to level my breathing. Everything is setting in all at once and god is it painful. My brother wants to play a game, we are inevitably going to see my brother and I never genuinely thought it through. The last time I saw my brother was the day my father's murder was announced and he sent me a letter. That was three years ago.

The letter was your basic calling for a family meeting if you family meeting involved murder. When he asked me to meet I thought nothing about it. I wasn't expecting much but I wasn't not expecting anything either. My brother was a wild card and he knew that. He always used that to his advantage. When I met up with my brother that night we were on a roof and he was holding a gun. He tried to kill me that night, and said I killed father, but being a jack of all trades means he never mastered the art of aiming, or deception.

That was the last time I saw my brother and a year later I started marking names off the list. I decided to kill in a room quite like this actually. Small and bright and with cameras. I was in our basement going through the remains of my father. It was the day I found his book and all that mental torture came in tenfold and the manipulation struck hard.

The whole time I was in there was very short lived but now, now I have all the time in the world to let everything set in. I started with pacing. I could feel the guards' gaze on me as I paced through the cell. My father's words were echoing in my head as I tried to get his voice out. Some people have to die. God he would say that everytime he killed and I tried to be different but everytime I pulled the trigger I would find myself coming back to that just like everything else he would say. I bang my fist against the glass and in my peripheral I see the guards reaching for their guns.

"Oh keep your shit together have you never someone reliving their childhood because of one little trigger?" They looked scared. I'm scared.

You've always been more accurate than your brother. Our father would say during target practice and every night my brother, frustrated with our father complimenting me, would take his take it out on me for it like I could control what our father said. My breath is no longer even and my back is against the glass. In the corner of my eye I see the blinking of a camera and I wonder why they would even put one inside of my cell. I know I shouldn't encourage their thoughts of my lack of sanity. My sanity levels aren't, well, level at the moment.