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I don’t have to pull the trigger.  As long as I can keep my eyes open and on him, this can be over.  He’s backing away, with his head lowered and cringing like a reprimanded dog, I can see it even through blurred vision.  I can feel the burning imprint of his hands on the sides of my neck, throbbing with my heartbeat.  Each throb and my index finger twitches a little.  I don’t have to pull the trigger.  My mind is a haze of fury, relief, and gratitude that I had put the little Ruger in my night stand drawer the night before.  I hate him; I’m beginning to realize it fully in my fevered, oxygen deprived brain.  But I don’t have to pull the trigger.  My heart is beating harder and I can feel the nerves tightening rhythmically in my forearm with each contraction.  I’m free now and this can end.  I don’t have to pull the trigger.

I close my eyes.

 

 

Brevity Quest 2020