untitled

a fiction - my imagination

The last thing I remember was shooting myself in the head with her gun. I had to die because I can't bear to live with the sin of killing her. But then I have to kill her because if not I can't bear to live with the fact that I am an unlucky SOB who did everything I possibly could to win her heart. She still thinks me invisible. The point here is this, no one wants to be a sucker. No one wants to be a natural born loser either. You see, I have this vibe about me that scares all the women I like away. I did everything I could to get rid of this vibe, this bad luck; whatever you call it. I hate IT and I hate falling for women who can't, won't and wouldn't respond. Is it my fault? To be honest, it ain't my doing because they were all good to me at the beginning but things always go wrong. I call it a 3-day-glory. Just 3 freaking days and it's over. I can sense her running away, twitching her body in disgust as I walked past or shifting her eyes as I look into them. The awkwardness is enough to drive me mental.

I saw the gun that she carried in her handbag. She needed it for protection seemingly. Kiss my arse and I won't believe that she dares to pull the trigger. Her yakuza-type ex-husband could send an army of soldiers from Israel to attack her but that baby remains a virgin. I am still talking about the gun by the way.

So I thought, what a waste. A beautiful semi-automatic baby shouldn't be a nun. I am not kidding. You should see the way she wraps the gun in white silk and black velvet. When I knocked her out with a baseball bat, it took me some time to unwrap those damn cloth before the baby revealed herself. After she regained her consciousness I asked why did she need to conceal the gun this way. It was meant to be easily accessed and not layered in complication. Her reply was shocking and it must be the same reason why I love her so much! It takes two nuts to click. Oh! She said that the gun is brand new and she doesn't want it scratched.

I didn't know where to shoot her at first because I don't want to damage her pretty face. Close-range firing may blow out her entire head or any part of her body for that matter. Maybe I should stand a little further but I am an amateur shooter who could possibly miss the target. I don't want her to suffer too long upon my pulling the trigger.

After much hesitation and calculation, I decided to take a clean blow at her heart. That should be perfect and so it shall be. I took 5 steps away from her. Lifted the gun with my right hand, cock the gun, aimed and on a count to 3 - my index finger pulled with all its might and failure hits like shit.

The gun was not loaded.

It can't be. This cannot be true. How can the gun have no bullets? This is not funny. Confused, sweating, bewildered I trembled in fear. Again the awkwardness in her eyes drove me insane. I hate that look. Can't she have a little compassion for a killer who failed at his first job?

She laughed.

How could she laugh at me? I was trying to kill her. I felt humiliated. I cried.

She laughed harder.

I have to end this. I pointed the gun at my head this time because I can no longer look into her eyes. They were demeaning and cold. This is the woman I love. I loved.

I close my eyes. Tears streamed down my face like urine down the toilet bowl.

I pulled the trigger.

Bang.