The rounds slide easily into the .44. Concentrating on each bullet dulls the burning of my bitten thigh. A six-chambered cylinder. I’m still not sure I can do it, but that’s five more than I need.
Die or turn?
I raise the gun and draw the hammer. It clicks into place. If only I could believe in God, in the hereafter. Or a cure. I feel the barrel tapping softly against my temple, the gun trembling in my hand. The bite throbs now. I wrap my finger around the trigger. I wonder if I’ll pull it even as I squeeze.
Die or turn?
I raise the gun and draw the hammer. It clicks into place. If only I could believe in God, in the hereafter. Or a cure. I feel the barrel tapping softly against my temple, the gun trembling in my hand. The bite throbs now. I wrap my finger around the trigger. I wonder if I’ll pull it even as I squeeze.
