The Last Bullet

It was an old ramshackle pub, deserted and lifeless. He and I were seated on opposite sides of the table which was utterly empty except for my loyal Smith and Wesson revolver that chose to rest silently on it. There was no air of tension, whatsoever, in the air. But, he knew it and so did I. It was unpardonable. There was no need for a reason to be explicitly mentioned. But, on that fateful day, I felt otherwise. Perhaps, I was in good spirits or maybe just spirits.

The question was laid naked on the floor. It was not explicitly asked, though. He knew pretty well that it was up to him to break the silence. After hours of confused thoughts on his side and antipodal ones on mine, he spoke. He said it. He said it in such a contemptuous way that I squirmed in my seat. The shame and the regret of having trusted him to be what he wasn’t filled me. There was no looking back now.

I was justified in what I had to do. He wouldn’t fight back. I didn’t expect him to. I shot him. He needed two bullets in his filthy skull before he showed signs of death. And then, I noticed something. Something that was capable of changing everything. He had been a live transmitter to those cowards all along. They had obviously set it up just to frame me for what they couldn’t possibly dream of proving by themselves. And, he had given in to whatever it is that they offered him. A selfish worm that did not qualify to be a man.

I did not need any mental preparation for it. I would obviously prefer to take my own life than give myself up to those bargainers. Damn! That was the last bullet! I felt an eerie sense of helplessness that I had never felt before. Disorganized thoughts filled my mind for the first time. He lay on the floor; the blood proclaiming my victory. I fled in no particular direction; the sweat proclaiming my defeat.

PS: Courtesy of “Dream” Productions dated Aug 27th, 2008.