Just Another Dead
by J. Ian Manczur
“Where do we go from here,” she begged, “where do we go from here?”
Do I lie to her again? Do I say everything will be ok? Do I smile sweetly? Hope that she believes me?
I smiled sweetly. “Everything will be ok,” I lied. Again. She believed me.
She cried into my chest. Soft heaves. I put the gun to her head. She didn’t feel a thing.
It was over. I took off the bookcase, it fell to the floor. I ripped off the planks, one, two. I unlatched the deadbolt. Removed the chain lock. Flipped the handle’s lock. Opened the door.
I walked out in tears, firing at ever increasing silhouettes. Five. Four. Three. Two. I turned the gun on myself. One.
Who was I? Does it matter? Just another dead. Who was anyone? That girl? Someone I met. Strangers two days before. Another I lied to. That I told that everything would be ok. That I smiled sweetly for, hoping that she believed me. Just another dead.
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