|My Baby Shot Me Down
Author: andsoitgoes PM
Short oneshot. Doesn't mean anything or connect to anything. A boy and his toy? Haha.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Words: 434 - Reviews: 8 - Favs: 6 - Published: 10-26-07 - Status: Complete - id: 2431091
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
It was cold… hard, like his eyes; dark like the liquid mercury that captures my gaze every time I look at him. The surface was smooth and harsh edges defined its perfect shape.
My sweaty palms left foggy outlines of my finger tips on the barrel and I wiped it on my pants, smudging them to nothing.
I weighed the metal in my hands, holding it up to eyelevel. It was heavy. I was sure I could feel it pulsate, throb with life. I held a breath and realized it'd only been my own pulse I'd felt. It was thundering blood in my ears and I inhaled shakily, trying to distract myself away from my own body.
I collected my mind until I was only aware of the dryness of my lips and the cool air inhaled through my nose.
Then hot air exhaled.
I could smell the oil that'd been rubbed into the metal until it was nothing more than a part of it. It made the whole thing feel flawless—like it was made of ice.
Before I knew it, my fingers didn't leave prints on the barrel anymore, having heated up in my trembling hands. Tentatively, I pressed my cheek against the warm metal, rather than simply bringing it to my face.
My eyes closed partially and I could feel my eyelashes on my own skin as I stroked the short handle across my chin. I turned it slowly, the tip reaching my mouth. The metal felt soothing on my lips and they parted on an exhale, fogging up what my breath touched.
I opened my mouth for it.
I seemed to mentally blink, and the entire barrel was past my lips. It was choking me, suffocating me; I didn't mind. Removing it half an inch from the back of my mouth, I left it in, cradling the smooth wooden handle in my hands still.
Carefully, my tongue moved forward just slightly. It touched the tip and my senses were suddenly full of the flavour and feel of the metal. The oil tasted like oil should taste and the thick texture made me swallow. I could feel it becoming a part of me, passing down the lean muscles of my throat and into my frail body.
Taking a better grip on the handle with both hands, I intertwined my fingers with each other.
My thumb felt along the edge and down—there it is.
I smiled timidly around the protruding barrel, aiming it up just the slightest.
I pulled the trigger—
I woke up.