Short Story (Welcome Home)
It is said that for every choice there is a consequence, and I am proof of that.
Before I was able to look him in the eyes the barrel was shoved forcefully into my forehead. The feeling of cold steel pressed into my skin. I could see his white knuckled grip on the weapon; it was hard to tell if he was angry or nervous, but given the current circumstances I could only assume angry.
“Everything you do gives the devil ideas.” He said, his words echoing across the dimly lit room.
“The differences between you and I are so incredibly evident…” He paused for a moment, then in a sickening tone he said, “You disgust me.”
His prominent brow beaded with sweat and I could see across the barrel that his black leather jacket was tattered and ripped suggesting he may have been through a rough couple of days. The room was small and devoid of anything and smelled of rotten wood and rust.
“Why do I have to be the one to choose who lives and who dies?” He asked aloud as if he were only asking himself and not talking to anyone in particular.
It is always so amazing to me how karma can reveal itself at the most inopportune time.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” This time I knew he was looking right at me. “You sicken me.” His tone was becoming evidently more vicious and hostile. I heard the small click which I could only assume was the safety being removed.
This was all happening so fast that it didn’t even register that I was about to die.
Mentally I was still on the bench outside in the rain waiting for my brother to pick me up. Until this man, this thing, grabbed me and shoved me into the back of his small pick-up. That was only fifteen minutes ago, now look at me, on my knees in a small wood shed that was on an uneven dirt foundation ready to fall over at any given moment. Still I questioned what I had done to deserve this, I must have done something terrible, but no such recollections came to mind.
I looked up at my agent of death, his cold dark eyes locked on mine; separated by the beauty of a weapon that would ultimately deliver me to my creator.
“I don’t need your god.” He said.
At that I was finally was able to muster up the strength to say something. “What did I ever do to you?” He didn’t hear me; my words rang out empty and hollow.
“He won’t tell me what to do anymore.” He paused, a smile spread across his face in a sickening grin. He put more pressure on the weapon, pushing it into deeper into the skin on my forehead. “You won’t tell me what to do anymore either, nobody will.”
Was this really happening? Was I really on my knees in a shed being preached to about god and control? I didn’t care or give a **** about any of this. I wanted to be in my brother’s car headed towards San Francisco, chatting about life and other things.
Again he stated, “I don’t need your god.”
He cocked the hammer back of his weapon with his thumb, it echoed with a loud reverberated “click.” I tried to interject but his words trampled over mine. Every muscle in my body was tense.
“Do something for me.” He said, giving me no time to answer. “Tell him you’ll see him soon.”
I tried to scream, and at that it was all erased, pain, fear, tension, it was all gone. It felt as if I was falling in slow motion and I was powerless to stop it. Darkness filled me and the entirety of my being, it was cold yet comforting. A small light bled through into my vision and I could hear a voice say to me. “Welcome home.”
