1AN: I wrote this actually in church, inspiration strikes at the oddest times.

"We're going down down, in an earlier round, and Sugar we're going down swinging. I'll be your number one with the bullet, a god loaded complex, cock it and pull it."

She stared at me with those skittish brown eyes, glazed over in flashes of fear and sparks of desperation. A the blackness of terror dominated their endless depths. She quivered, her figure moving wildly, arms thrown haphazardly, knocking things onto the ground with a thunder of musical sounding crashes. It was simply more for her shaky legs to stumble over as she struggled to keep her precarious balance.

The bullet in her heart, a mass of melting silver, seeped into every chamber like a poison. Those sparks of desperation weren't imagined, now they haunt my eyes as well.

My red eyes, red with grief and sorrow, I dropped the cold black object in my hand, and collapsed over her crying.

A smug silence pervaded the room, and that object smiled at me, singing as it always has. I had used it many times before, yet set it aside in favor of her. Now it smiled because it knew, no longer could I set it aside. My reason for a life apart from that hideous thing has died in my arms, coughing up flecks of red horror. And staring blankly into defeat. She wondered in her silver poisoned heart, how it all came to this.

"Cock it and pull it"