Cursed Ground

She picked it up, aimed it at her head, closed her eyes but refused to flinch. She would not flinch. Don’t think. Hesitating led to uncertainties and she was not willing to come to terms with the questions residing in the recess of her mind. She pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

Again. Nothing.

Click click click. Empty!

She threw the gun down and ran up the stairs. No, this can’t be happening! Not happening! During all of that rage, she’d been a fool. Stupid and blind, but worst of all, alive. She’d never even considered saving a bullet for herself. It could’ve been easy. It could’ve been a quick leap into darkness, her body lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

But that was the problem with being irrational. Hasty, unplanned actions led to messy consequences. She was paying for it now.

Beatrice ran into the kitchen and pulled out every drawer she came across. All of which contained everything, but what she needed. She searched the third drawer. Old papers, appliance manuals—rubbish!

The next drawer was no better. It was full of dingy lids and containers that looked as if they’d been there longer than they’d ever been used. Useless.

She was losing him. No, don’t go. Don’t leave me!

Next drawer. Spoons, forks, measuring cups…. Knives! Where were the knives?

Had she missed them during her panicked search or had someone moved them with the idea in mind they might be ill-used at some point or another?

She slammed the last drawer shut and moved to the cupboards. Peace came when she noted all were full of potential weapons. Plates, glasses… and bowls. She grabbed a glass, smashed it on the floor and reached for a large shard. Pushing the edge of it against her throat, she goaded herself to take action. Do it. Do it!

He was almost gone. His beautiful face was fading….