I finally decided that I would put this up on Patreon as Patron-only content. However, here is a free taste:
I love you, she says, putting the pistol on the table between us. But we can't go on like this.
I stare at the gun in front of me. It's a revolver, all blued steel and walnut, the bluing starting to patina from age and the checkering on the grip scratched and worn from use. The barrel isn't pointing at either of us, it's pointing to the left; my left, her right, the handle such that I could easily grab it.
She's left-handed, so she could easily grab it, too.
I look up at her, confused. Her mouth is quirked in a half smile, half wry pout. I don't understand, I ask, my voice rising higher than I intended.
We can't go on like this. One of us has to end it.
I look down at the gun again. The hammer is cocked all the way back. I look up again, and my mouth does a fish impersonation, opening and closing silently, before I find my voice again. Why?
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