Weapon of Choice
“You don’t have to do this.” My voice whispered back from the mirror. Such a disgusting image with my curls hanging wet and scraggly, beads of sweat glistening on my skin, and a look of fear etched on my face.
“Yes, I do.” I answered, bringing the gun to the side of my head again.
“No. You don’t believe in suicide.” The mouth in the mirror twisted into a sneer and the voice rang out in sing-song. “Suiciders go to Hell. Suiciders go to Hell.”
I pulled the gun away from my head.
“Shut up, Father Dowling. Shut up! The world IS better off without me. I’m a fuck up. I’m doing this.” I brought the gun to my mouth and kissed it. The mirror image pushed it away.
“Over my dead body!” The mirror screamed. A staccato of laughter filled the room.
“Now there’s irony,” I said. I placed the nose of the gun on my temple again, the cold steel soothing my hot flesh. “One flinch of my finger and it would all be over.”
“But you don’t need to do this.” The mirror whimpered, not touching the gun this time. “Not like this. Who said it has to be so violent?”
“As if suicide is peaceful! There’s always some weapon. Some choose pills. Some choose razor blades. I choose this. One pull of the trigger and it’s over.” I switched the gun to my other hand, angling the gun under my ear this time. “No chance of returns. One movement of applied pressure and boom! It’s done.”
The mirror whimpered again. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I have no peace. My words are weapons to my soul. I must do this.”
A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead. My eyebrow held it captive for a moment before it splashed on the rise of my cheek, rolled down my face, and escaped to the floor. I switched hands again, positioning the gun at my temple, pressing the nose in the hollow. Slight pressure on the trigger made it click and I jumped.
“You don’t have to do this.” My voice whispered back from the mirror. Tears streamed down the mirror’s face.
My finger tensed on the trigger. I looked square into the mirror’s eyes. “Yes. I do.”
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Michael challenged me with “The lesson I take from this place is that the person who wishes for peace does not hide even a needle as a weapon. Even when driven into the need for self-defense, if you have a weapon, you are qualified to fight-maybe-but you are not qualified to pray for peace.’ Dr. Paul Nagai, atomic bomb survivor ” and I challenged Joelyn with “All she had was an axe.”
This was a tough challenge for me, so I would really appreciate your thoughts on this piece. Based on your interpretation of the quote, do you think I answered this challenge? What should I change?
Thank you for stopping by and reading!