Categories > Original > Drama > Lola
So here I am, sitting idle after all of this. Nothing to show for my efforts at helping kill three people. I am the worst at trying to be the best. This lonesome hotel room is fitting, the flickering of distant lights, like stars in a dying sky.
They say love is a warm gun. Well what about a cold one? Does that mean it is hate? Hate from this unfired life ender? I'm not really sure if I should do this in the mouth, under the chin, or even to the temple. So many ways to do this, with one weapon. Options are irrelevent at this point, those became the bullets in the chamber. Why buy a gun if you don't plan on ever using it? Doesn't it require hatred to fire a bullet? Or perhaps fear.
How can this be happening? A complete stranger falls into my life page by page, and rewrites my once perfect script. I wasn't perfect, but damn it, I was content! I was relatively happy and fine where I was. Suicide is a last option, an empty one sided option that dares the victim to think of one last reasoning. Maybe a certain twist or detail is missing and hasn't been found yet? It's come to this? Something to live for? Something to die for? I have plenty of reasoning for that.
I removed my shoes, imitating her last moments before a bullet chasing kiss, followed by a stone cold iron clad inevitable plummet. Even now, as I feel my warmth filling the grips, to heat the trigger, to sculd the chamber, hopefully a clean death to this end. If I could, I'd wrap my hands around my throat, and squeeze. Help me, help me die.
I don't know which to hate more, myself or her. Or maybe my supposed friends, or even possibly my father from the get go. So much supressed, and writing never helped, it never saved anyone or lessened the blow or tears. I shed too many tears, and with too much blood. I hate hating, and I seem to love the hate. I'm not sure if I'm ready after all, but I'll give it a shot..
This gun is ready, so am I. Let's do this....
The trigger barely moves, the hammer sits colder still.
Safety is on.
Ready..
Nothing happens, no flash, no loud cacaphony...
Chamber a round, need to build up the nerve again..
My last fleeting thoughts....I wish Gwen would stop me....I wish...I could be happy..
My cell phone buzzes in my pocket, scaring me in this stirring silence. My finger instinctively taps the trigger.
Gwen?
They say love is a warm gun. Well what about a cold one? Does that mean it is hate? Hate from this unfired life ender? I'm not really sure if I should do this in the mouth, under the chin, or even to the temple. So many ways to do this, with one weapon. Options are irrelevent at this point, those became the bullets in the chamber. Why buy a gun if you don't plan on ever using it? Doesn't it require hatred to fire a bullet? Or perhaps fear.
How can this be happening? A complete stranger falls into my life page by page, and rewrites my once perfect script. I wasn't perfect, but damn it, I was content! I was relatively happy and fine where I was. Suicide is a last option, an empty one sided option that dares the victim to think of one last reasoning. Maybe a certain twist or detail is missing and hasn't been found yet? It's come to this? Something to live for? Something to die for? I have plenty of reasoning for that.
I removed my shoes, imitating her last moments before a bullet chasing kiss, followed by a stone cold iron clad inevitable plummet. Even now, as I feel my warmth filling the grips, to heat the trigger, to sculd the chamber, hopefully a clean death to this end. If I could, I'd wrap my hands around my throat, and squeeze. Help me, help me die.
I don't know which to hate more, myself or her. Or maybe my supposed friends, or even possibly my father from the get go. So much supressed, and writing never helped, it never saved anyone or lessened the blow or tears. I shed too many tears, and with too much blood. I hate hating, and I seem to love the hate. I'm not sure if I'm ready after all, but I'll give it a shot..
This gun is ready, so am I. Let's do this....
The trigger barely moves, the hammer sits colder still.
Safety is on.
Ready..
Nothing happens, no flash, no loud cacaphony...
Chamber a round, need to build up the nerve again..
My last fleeting thoughts....I wish Gwen would stop me....I wish...I could be happy..
My cell phone buzzes in my pocket, scaring me in this stirring silence. My finger instinctively taps the trigger.
Gwen?
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