Saturday, March 6, 2010


Gun - 285 Words
Mary Ann Loo

It lay at the bottom of the empty dumpster, helpless, harmless. It hadn’t moved since it fell from this window a couple hours ago, from my shaking fingers, and the dull thud as it had landed rang in my ears, and even now still resonated somewhere deep within me. I shivered sporadically, even though the summer sun, high in the sky, poured through the window and engulfed me in its warmth. Nobody was around, nobody heard anything, nobody was coming. Not even her ghost.

She lay twenty feet away, a broken shell of who she’d been less than three hours ago, empty and abandoned like the building itself. The blood pool and its distributaries had finally stopped growing, dark and red and contaminated by these dusty floorboards, and they’d already begun to return the favor. The culprit remained motionless in the dirty green dumpster three floors down, unrepentant, unfeeling, leaving me to deal with its mess.

All I wanted was for him to leave her, was it too much to ask? He was everything I dreamed of, everything my imperfections worked and suffered for – and all she did was produce her perfect smile, bat her long lashes and he was completely smitten. I deserved to have all of him, and not share with some skinny twenty-something blonde tramp who could have just as easily wrapped any guy, any rich older guy, around those French-manicured fingers. I deserved the happiness I was entitled to for the past three years. She deserved to die, and she didn’t die beautiful.

The gun lay in the dumpster, stationary, silent. Its contents fully spent, its work complete. I shivered one last time, pulled off my gloves, and left the windowsill.

Bullet Soul - Switchfoot

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