Thoughts on this :)

[stella1991]

I sit restlessly, but as if I was being held, next to the kitchen table, twiddling the thin, plastic, floral tablecloth in my sweating hands, unable to keep my bare legs still. Opposite me is a man. He's not sitting down, but I know he intends to, from the way his bright blue eyes drill into me. I can only focus on his eyes – he's wearing a white mask. I want to see if his eyes dart from mine to what's laying on the table, but he is undoubtedly unfazed by it. A pistol, and a tin containing bullets, one of which is missing. I know this because I saw him load it in the chamber just a few minutes ago. He knows I'm nervous, but does nothing to console me, because he knows, in my current state – paralysed by fear- I can't move. He's really scrawny and so pale, I can see his hands and the way his black jumper just hangs off him. You could easily mistake him for a child if he wasn't so tall. Despite the initial frailness of his figure, there is an aura of power about him. I'm feeling hysterical as he sits down, and I'm trying not to show it, yet I flinch as he reaches across the table to stop me fiddling with the tablecloth. He picks up the gun, then spins the chamber teasingly, a hint of a smile playing in his beautiful blue eyes. I can very nearly hear his heart beating as he listens to the noisy clicks of the chamber. Then it stops. He's savouring, maybe even enjoying every moment. Suddenly, all emotion drains out of him, and all I can see is that his eyes are wrinkled up. Not in fear, in anticipation as he brings the smooth metal to his temple and.

Click.
Nothing.


'Your turn, chicka' he says, in a friendly, sarcastic tone. 'This is a game to him' I think, as he slides the heavy, cold gun across the table.


I'm breathing rapidly now. I don't care if this man sees the fear in my face, even if he decided to show none. I touch the gun, try to see if I can bring myself to caress it as he did, but I recoil as the freezing grey metal sends a shiver up my spine like it was fire. So I start to weigh up my odds as I bring the unfamiliar object to face height. It hurts to hold it. 1 in 6 chance if I spin it, 1 in 5 if I don't. Who can argue with those odds? It would be stupid not to spin it, but the man stops me with a simple shake of his head, lust in his eyes that you'd only ever expect to find in the mind of a sadist. My lips are trembling, but I'm too numb to cry. There will be consequences worse than death if I don't complete this game. I just know it. I feel so sick to the stomach that I retch as I pull the gun to my head, exactly the same place that he had done. I'm shaking uncontrollably as I put my finger on the trigger. The man's eyes show anticipation again, but this time they're wide and menacing, and I know I've got no choice but to...

Bang!



I'm bolt upright in my bed, my ears ringing so loud I can't hear myself screaming.

Awake? Asleep?
Screaming? Dreaming?
Alive? Dead?