Chekhov's Gun, Part 2.

As I was pulled by these lifeless souls, as I found myself beside your grave and your tree. My foot fell in a little hole, and I could taste death only an inch away. But in the darkest of moments, I’d find light. In my pocket, it was a revolver. Never have I seen gun like this, but it looked quite used with a familiar smell I couldn’t recall. I check the barrel and found six bullets, loaded in the chamber. There were only six corpses. Perfect. I shot the first on the ribcage, where the lung should be and shot the next two in the skull. I shot the fourth one in the heart, which ricochet onto the heart of the next corpse. Only one had remained. And I have two bullets left. The odds were slowly pulled in my favor. I think lady luck was maybe smiling down on me. I felt closer to serenity. I pulled the trigger for the first bullet. Nothing happened. As it came closer and closer for an attack, I shot the second bullet. Nothing, again. In an instant, tranquility became hostile. And at the brink of becoming of death, time had froze. The sound of the bell stopped and everything fell silent. Its eyes gazed upon mine. In that short time, it seemed that its red eyes were the only color in that had ever lived in the world. I then look that its body and found two bullet holes in its chest. If nothing came out of my gun, how could it be shot? Then, like a tsunami of blood rushing into the head, I realized. It was you. You were my lover. At that point, I knew that Lady Luck was just a bad comedian, amused with her own joke. I wasn’t laughing.

Suddenly, I gazed into her eyes, and I remembered the dream I had on the night of the murder. A single silhouette slowly walking across the road, straight to your bedroom window. Your blue eyes stood out like sapphires while you were on your bed, halfway reading though The Seagull. You appeared so innocent and most definitely lovely. The backdoor opened, leaving only a trail of muddy footprints behind. She couldn’t hear the steps upon the creaky floorboards. Slowly out of the shadow appeared a pistol, and you gasp for air as the blood rushed so quickly; you could not escape out from your bed sheets fast enough. And without hesitation, ripping roars of thunder spread thought the soundwaves in ripples as the bullets pierced though the flesh. It went through your heart and onto the walls. You were slowly climbing on the walls in great pain for an escape. And out from the shadows was only the gun, with its barrel covered by the killer’s hand. But the face of the monster appeared out of the floorlight, and my evil eyes failed to release any intention of mercy. I didn’t want you to have that pleasure. And Bang. It was over. I pushed you over to check if you were breathing. You weren’t. You stood there; bullet holes were like rubies glowing from your brittle heart and your eyes were crying tears of scarlet, no long blue, but in deep shades of red. You were just lying there, up against the walls. I took your coat, to hide my bloody hands, and left the scene. I was long gone before the sirens came. I returned to my place and caught a front row seat to my masterpiece. And the last thing I remembered was that I was smiling. Yes, the killer was smiling.

I knew the appetite of your soul hungered for revenge. With one swipe, from your razor hands, I died right next to your grave. Slowly, I saw your spirit looming out of my vision toward the sunrise, as my soul flows out of my body, like tears. The last thing I ever saw was those tulips, slowly welting away as it has no more life to live. And I hoped, the sun will rise over the storm.


Well, keep dreaming.